


Journey's End

by RottieBones



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Listener is a Satyr, Listener is a trans woman, but nothing has ever been written about them, my city now, satyrs are canon in elder scrolls lore, so i'm writing my own canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-10-24 07:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 59,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottieBones/pseuds/RottieBones
Summary: From deep heart and root of Valenwood emerges a legendary creature presumed extinct- A satyr, one with a fluent tongue but no knowledge of the world outside of home. Now she flees, across Cyrodiil and into Skyrim from something she refuses to face, burying her past beneath new beginnings.Her apathy and lack of remorse has gifted her a spot within the Dark Brotherhood, and soon enough the title of Listener. And with that, a family that takes great interest to their new sister and her shrouded origins. And furthermore, she's taken the interest of a certain Keeper, who thinks the world of her.When conflict of opinion threatens to tear apart the last standing sanctuary, a Listener is needed for the survival of a family.Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.





	1. Out of the Cold

The sound of hooves falling upon on ancient stone was a loud, rhythmic contrast to the quiet of the forest. Few birds sang overhead and fell silent as the approaching and passing hooves heralded the migration of a living being. The soft sigh of a late afternoon breeze through the snow-capped trees swelled and then died into a mute whisper. Every noise was so loud in the near silence of the snow laden countryside, and barely a sign of life spare for the traveler and a smattering of winter birds. Everything echoed all around, creating the feeling of a tunnel in late daylight.

 

A single white horse carried its rider along the old trail, sparing few glances at passing bushes of foreign berries in contemplation. The mare was thin in build, a telltale sign of a foreigner in strange lands. The horses of this snowy, tree dotted expanse were much stockier and had far thicker coats to combat the harsh colds. This horse was thin, lean but muscular, obviously built to be hardy and strong but still swift enough to travel quickly. Any native to Cyrodiil could recognize that the horse had originated from Anvil, which meant it had to have been quite an expensive steed to acquire. The traveler it carried seemed anything but wealthy, dressed in foreign hides and wrapped in cheap, old wool to keep herself warm in the unforgiving freeze. She shivered, squeezing her eyes shut as another icy gust curled around her form. She could feel her horse quiver beneath her, and subconsciously she pulled her wools closer to her body. This was supposed to be the correct road, according to a khajiit dressed in monk robes. Then again, that khajiit spouted nonsense between his directions, and the credibility of a rambling cat could be questionable.

 

Far had been her journey, fleeing out of the deep forest of Valenwood, and onward on a long, long trek through Cyrodiil, until she had just nearly reached a border that the Imperials of Cyrodiil dubbed the ‘Pale Pass’. That had been her ticket into the cold northern land known as Skyrim, had she not been stopped. A friendly Argonian traveler near the border had called for her attention and warned her preemptively that he had heard rumor of Imperial troops stalking around at the Pale Pass border, and advised her to take the long route to another gate she hadn’t even been aware of, something in an area called The Rift. She’d thanked the traveler, and shortly after he had traveled onward, heading towards the very pass he had warned her about. Curious thing, Argonians were. Her passage was extended, much to her dismay, but the extra time traveling was very much worth the days wasted, as soon enough she had passed easily into Skyrim, through a lonely, abandoned border pass. Her first breath in Skyrim welcomed her to comfortable winds, where the sun shone in beams bright and golden, painting the trees that had boasted leaves of the same soft gold, as if the sun itself blessed the leaves with its color. The gentle warmth of The Rift was a welcoming falsity in representation of Skyrim’s climates, as she’d been warned that the rest of the land was not as warm and welcoming. For now, she considered it a calm before the snowstorm, a resting point before she decided where she would voyage next. Stopping in a canal town called Riften, she was greeted with her first taste of Skyrim’s people- a shakedown at the gates, under the guise of a ‘fee, for the privilege of entering the city’. The guard who had approached her when she dismounted was given a headshake of discouragement from the other guard, who had less nerve than the one that had spoken to her. Fortunately for the traveler, she was stubborn and had almost no money, and saw through the obvious money ploy, thanks to the guard’s wavering confidence. Raising her voice, she countered the guard’s advances with the threat of exposure to the nearby stable manager, who shook his head disapprovingly. The guard’s confidence finally shattered, and she was permitted to enter without paying a single, shiny Septim.  


With the low funds she had on hand, she shelled out some of her remaining funds for a night stay at the local tavern, run by an engaged couple of friendly Argonians who greeted her warmly to their establishment, which they had called The Bee and Barb. The rest of her money was spent on supplies for the journey ahead, stocking up on food and a weapon to protect herself, as the Argonian fiancée, Keerava, had advised her to invest in. Apparently the roads of Skyrim were untamed and harsh, seeking the blood of one who would be unaware of the dangers. The sweet Argonian had also given her something for the road, an old wool shawl to keep her warm. She’d been quite underprepared and it showed, but she was ever grateful for Keerava’s kindness. Only an hour or more later she was on the road early, following the road to a place called Windhelm. A Nord within the city advised her to head there if she was looking for easy gold, and she, unknowing of the land, took his advice and set off. The stable manager, who introduced himself as Hofgrir Horse-Crusher, had warned her that her horse might not handle the cold well, but the traveler, now almost broke spare for 20 Septims in her coin purse, could not afford to buy a horse, even if the horses of Skyrim were 3,000 Septims less than the one she’d bought in Cyrodiil. Selling her horse would be useless, both because no sane person in skyrim would be interested in purchasing a horse that couldn’t handle cold, and also for the poor woman had grown attached to her only companion during her journey. So with that, she’d set off into the cold.  


And so much to that idea, gods damn it. She had time to reflect on her life and situation as she traveled, mulling over the treatment she’d gotten in riften and the wide-eyed stares and murmurs of inn patrons as she passed them. Beauty was not the reason for the heads she turned, but for a far more intriguing predicament. The traveler had horns, and not just horns, but strangely patterned skin, and most concerning of all, instead of feet, she walked upon soft brown and black hooves. The traveler was a satyr, a fabled being of myth that had long since died down to exactly that, a myth, a folktale, the drunken claims of a Bosmer that had one too many drinks and a walk in the woods. Certainly, a living Satyr, here in Skyrim, of all the provinces in Tamriel, had to be a rather big ordeal, and it was. Disbelieving Imperials had asked her many times on her journey if she was a performer, on her way to some grand play in a rich capital, dressed in her costume. To their bewilderment she’d always answer with a shrug, and continue on her way. The Nords were more quick to believe the apparent truth, for Nords had always been very superstitious people. Fairytales of Satyrs, Hippogriffs, Minotaurs, and Fairy Folk danced in the dreams of Nord children raised on silly legends and remained in their memories, holding on to a shard of hope that such things existed. And surely they did, though the traveler had never seen some of them- (spare a Minotaur, to which she’d almost lost her horse to in the wilds of Cyrodiil.) If she was real, they were too.  


Well, damn it all, through that distracted reflecting upon herself, she’d mistook a sign that read ‘Whiterun’ for ‘Windhelm’ (the two are easily mistaken to a foreigner, after all!). Just her luck, as now she’d noticed another signpost that clearly stated ‘Whiterun’. And here she was now, riding through the snow, clutching her wool shawl closer to her body. No use in turning and looking for Windhelm now, the day was fading and soon the great sun would fall behind the horizon, and the two moons, Jone and Jode, were soon to chase him across the skies. Whiterun would have to do for tonight, and she did have barely enough coin to afford to stay somewhere, if the tavern prices were consistent. She was unsure of whether Whiterun was a wealthy, more noble hold, or one in a similar quality to Riften’s shady, thief-filled canals. She’d make do with what she had.

 

* * *

 

 

The snow gave way to chilly, but moderately warm grassy plains, and stone barriers that attempted to protect travelers from the onslaught of wolves lined the roads. In the distance, the lanterns of a farm property were being lit as light had begun to fade. It was a nice summer night, and the insects were humming in the grasses. It was a very nice and sudden contrast from the snow she had just been traveling in, and her horse had even seemed more comfortable. Nodding at a hold guard who stared as she rode past him, she continued her journey towards the farm, setting her sights on the massive palace that was now visible behind it. That must be Whiterun Hold, she noted. She’d be in a warm bed soon enough, hopefully.

Fantasizing about a nice, comfortable bed was abruptly cut short when a shrieky voice rang out across the evening silence, shattering the peace.  
  
"Agh! Bother and befuddle! Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother... Unmoving. At rest- but too still! And that… That Loreius! Unhelpful cur! Too good for poor, poor Cicero!” Shrilled the voice, causing the traveller to clasp her hands over her sensitive pointed ears. Her horse shied and whinnied uncomfortably, but she gently dug her hooves into the mare’s sides, urging her to follow the source of the disruption.

 

The road didn’t lead far before she came upon a wagon, half obscuring the road ahead. It was tilted, obviously angled in such a way that only meant a wheel had probably broken. She’d seen a wagon like this in Cyrodiil once before, the wheel shattered by a well placed blow from a warhammer. What took her by surprise and nearly startled her from the back of her horse was a tiny little man dressed in faded red and black jester motley- and the source of the ungodly screeching. The sound of approaching hooves tore him from his loud cries of dismay, and suddenly all attention was on the rider of the white horse.

 

“ You there! Over here, if you’d please! Poor Cicero is stuck- Can't you see?” Called the jester, waving at her with much energy. The traveler sighed softly and rode closer before dismounting, and the man who called himself Cicero continued rambling.  
  
“I was transporting my dear, sweet mother- Well, not her. Her corpse! She's quite dead. I'm taking mother to a new home, A new crypt, but... aggh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?” The woman nodded in hesitant agreement and peeked at the wheel. It wasn’t shattered or too badly damaged, but it was indeed broken enough to prevent further use until repairs were made. The traveler spoke up.  
  
“Yes, I see. The damage isn’t serious but you definitely need help- Can I do anything?” She asked softly, and realized with how her voice cracked that she hadn’t spoken since she’d left Riften. Cicero raised a brow, intrigued by her voice. It was soft and had a unique accent he’d never heard before- and coupled with her breathtakingly life-like satyr costume, she must have been some sort of very foreign performer. Her strangeness excited him, but he made no attempt to ask any questions yet- he had a wagon to fix, and a man in a jester’s motley- transporting a corpse nonetheless, had no business asking another person in costume what they were doing here.  
  
“Oh- Oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the farm - the Loreius Farm. Just over there, off the road. Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me! But he won't- He refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel! Do that, and poor Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!"  
  
The mention of money had her ears perking with interest. Of course, the traveler would have (probably) still helped him. But money was something she needed right now especially, and she wasn’t about to turn down the offer. She nodded and looked up at the farm on the top of the grassy hillside, watching the windmill turn. Spinning on her hooves she started the trek up the hill. Cicero didn’t mean to peek, he really didn’t! But something caught his eye and those cursed, wandering eyes of his focused on it- and lo and behold, what an elaborate costume! She even had a fluffy little goat tail! Oh, how wonderful it was to him, to see such a dedicated performer! He stifled a tiny giggle as he watched her climb the hill.

 

Loreius wasn’t so happy to hear her request. Arms crossed, tapping his leg impatiently as he sat on the stool on the porch of his house, he leaned over the railing with an angered expression on his face. He’d badgered her about her appearance first and foremost, pestering and asking who she was. She decided it was safer to lie this time and tell him she was a performer on her way to Whiterun to entertain the Jarl, which seemed to ease his worries. The traveler could tell immediately that this man was more bark than bite, as his posture gave away that he was defensive and nervous, put on edge. She rolled her eyes and tried again.

 

“Seriously sir, I’m sure Cicero would be pleased to pay you for helping him. It’s obvious he can’t go anywhere.”  
  
“ _Pay me?_ You think this is about money? _Have you seen the man?!_ Says that thing in his wagon is a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother my eye. He could have anything in there- War contraband, Weapons, Skooma- Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that! He could walk to Whiterun and get help there instead! Why does it have to be me helping the little fool?!” The farmer ranted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. The traveler was becoming impatient, but showed no signs of annoyance. In fact, she hardly showed emotion at all, adding to the man’s fear and suspicion.

 

“-And what, leave the cart behind, on your property? If it’s really his mother, he’s leaving her poor body on the side of the road in the dark until he can get help, which anyone in Whiterun would insist on him waiting until tomorrow- and furthermore, if it’s something illegal- war contraband, you said? Imagine a guard finding something like that on your property. You’d be interrogated immediately, you’d be a prime suspect of some sort of illegal drop off. Your wife- I saw her in the mill, Altmer, right? That would be a recipe for disaster, since _I’d know well_ that tensions with the Thalmor are running high. She’d be taken.” She listed off as many horrors as she imagined would frighten the man. This seemed to scare Loreius into a silence, because he sat staring at her like a child caught with their filthy little paws in the sweetroll tin.

 

“Now look here! You- I-” The farmer’s confident facade crumbled to pieces and a resigned look graced his face, to the traveler’s relief.  
  
“-I... You're right, you're right. Feller might be nutters, might not. But fact is, he needs help. I turn him away, what kind of man am I, hmm? And your… scenarios… wouldn’t help me at all. Look, um... Thanks. And I'm sorry for my unneighborly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure and tell him I'll be down to help soon.” He sighed, and turned to gather his tools. The traveler nodded and sighed, turning and beginning her descent down the hill.

 

Cicero was ecstatic. Bouncing on his heels around the satyr, he cheered excitedly when she delivered the wonderful news.

 

“Oh stranger! You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more! Even more! _My mother thanks you!_ Here, here. For your troubles! Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed! And thank you! Thank you again- Miss- erh...” Cicero paused. He had meant to address her by name to show his sincerity, but he had ever caught it! How rude of him, to not introduce himself!

 

‘-Finn. It’s Finn, sir.” She caught on to his sudden pause and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to give him her name. He was just a jester, after all. She’d never see him again, so there was no issue.

 

“ _Miss Finn!_ Thank you, oh thank you for helping poor, _poor_ Cicero! I’d introduce myself but I think you’ve heard my name enough to remember, oho!” He laughed merrily, hopping from one foot to the other. The jester happily pushed a pouch of 350 Septims into the Finn’s hands. He had counted them out himself while she’d been talking to unhelpful Loreius! Finn, Finn. What an odd name, Finn. Cicero rolled it through his head over and over, fixated on the sound of the name echoing in his mind. Finny, Finn, Finn-Finn! He wondered where she came from? He was so lost in thought he’d almost missed her next words.

 

“-And I was figuring the wolves would be getting bolder around this time, so if you’d like me to stay here until you get your wagon fixed I could do that for you?” She asked hesitantly. It was already dark enough, she supposed a little extra time wouldn’t kill her out here, and for some reason she felt slight concern that Loreius would be unfaithful to his word. She didn’t talk him down for nothing, she was going to see this through.

 

“Oh, Miss Finn! You’re too kind to this lowly Fool of Hearts. Surely Cicero could protect himself from those hungry overgrown sheepdogs, but he much appreciates your offer! And Cicero could use the company. Traveling alone with my poor, dead mother can be so… unpleasant, when there’s only _silence_ between us.” He punctuated his words with a nervous giggle that made Finn’s skin prickle with slight discomfort.

 

Nonetheless she nodded and peeked at the large crate in the cart, then perched herself on a pile of stones, wiggling her tail nervously when the stones threatened to overturn for a second. She didn’t dare glance up at the jester, but she hoped Cicero hadn’t noticed. But Cicero had been paying close attention to her. How well made her costume was, how durable and strangely flexible. It was almost unnatural. When her tail wiggled the dawning realization fell upon him like an avalanche of stones tumbling upon his shoulders. This was no costume- it was real! Miss Finny was a real creature- oh, what did those funny Bosmer call them- Satyr! Finn was a satyr! Oh, he could hardly contain his curiosity. There were no recordings of Satyr in eras! Literally! How was she so literate? How did she know the native tongue, did they have their own? Where did she come from, what deep grotto in Valenwood did she emerge from? So many questions! He was so close to bursting that he almost didn’t notice Loreius had finally come down to help. Slothful, unhelpful Loreius! If it wasn’t for sweet Miss Finny, he would have never come down to help! Finn stood up, much to Cicero’s disappointment, and moved to the opposite side of the road, giving Loreius space to fix the wheel. She sat up on the large stones that bordered the other side of the road and peered up at Jone and Jode, who now were rising over the horizon and into the star spattered sky.

 

Cicero held his own internal battle for a brief minute, wondering if he should follow her and ask the questions he oh-so-needed to know. Curiosity killed the Khajiit, yes? But satisfaction brought it back! He was arguing with himself and he suddenly became aware of how silly he was being. Finny seemed pretty tolerant, surely a few questions wouldn’t bother? But then again Miss Finn hardly showed any emotion during the brief time they’d talked, and maybe she’d think his excessive friendliness was too creepy? Sweet talking and friendliness was usually a way to get information, but Finn was unreadable and hard to judge. Bother! He’d have to just get over himself and ask her, he’d never see her again most likely, and hopefully that fact would stay true. If he was to ever see or hear about her again, he knew it would most likely be through very… unfortunate terms. He brushed off his faded clothing and scrambled up onto the stones beside her. She barely regarded him, acknowledging his presence with a quick glance from the corner of her eye. Other than that, she was silent, staring at the stars. Silence, how he _hated_ and _loved_ silence. This time, it only made him impatient and antsy.

 

“Miss Finny, forgive Cicero for his pestering, but I have questions… Perhaps too many, but I can limit it to- a few! Yes, just a few for sweet Finny.” The nickname seemed to invoke a response, because Finn cast him a glance that could be read as both irritated and amused. Cicero was unsure, and it slightly infuriated him at how unreadable she was. He waited for a response which Finn finally brought herself to.

 

“Few questions? I guess that’s… fine, what do you want to know?” Oh yes! There was so much he wanted to know! Cicero, in his excitement, completely missed the hesitance in her voice, but Cicero’s charming and almost sickeningly-sweet kindness to her lowered her guard slightly, as Cicero had hoped would happen. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to answer the strange man’s questions, he surely couldn’t do anything to harm her with the information she’d give him.

 

“Cicero would like to knowwww… Where you came from…” He started, dragging his words out like a child. Finn raised an eyebrow, but her expression remained neutral.

“I dunno, where did you come from?-” Her childish, but joking retort caught Cicero off guard, and he laughed, until she finished her statement.

 

“-No, but seriously, I don’t think I can really give away where I came from. I’ll just say that it’s somewhere in Valenwood, as most people would suspect. Is that an acceptable answer?” She turned her head to look at him, making brief eye contact before averting her gaze uncomfortably. Making eye contact with others made her feel unnerved, something she’d never show outwardly. Cicero shrugged and nodded, a little dissappointed.

 

“Cicero supposes that’s fair enough. Ooooh! I know- Well, maybe Cicero knows, he isn’t totally sure. That white horse you’re riding, I know it well! That horse is from one-and-only Anvil, from that oh-so _expensive_ Horse Whisperer Stables! You were in Anvil! Did… did Finny go anywhere else while she was in Cyrodiil?” His voice wavered. Finn wasn’t imagining that, she’s sure she wasn’t. There was something in Cyrodiil he was worried about, a loved one? Maybe someone looking for him? Sheesh Finn, what if this guy is a serial killer escaping his crimes? Come to think of it, Bruma was blocked off when she tried to find a place to stay for the night- annnd she’s thinking about this too much, Cicero is staring. Oh, right. Cicero’s question.

 

“Aaaactually yes.-” Cicero inhaled softly, waiting for her response.

“I tried to spend a night in Bruma, shortly after I tried to cross a border into here. Some guy warned me that there’s Imperials skulking around the border and that I could get caught, so I took another route. But when I stopped in Bruma to see if I could stay anywhere, the city was closed off. Guards said it-”

“-Was too dangerous, there were riots, nobody except for residents were allowed in, yes?” Cicero finished her sentence, taking her by surprise. She nodded.

“Did they seem like they were hiding something, those unruly guards?” Once again she nodded, her surprise now evident on her face. Emotional breakthrough! Cicero managed to get a visible emotion from Finny! He grinned and bobbed his head enthusiastically. Finn wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this.

 

“Yes, Cicero knows well. Poor Cicero was also looking for places to stay when he was transporting his dear, sweet mother. It’s not just Bruma, you know. It’s like all of Cyrodiil has gone mad as I am, rioting. Much too dangerous for poor Cicero and his sweet, sweet mother. So we came here! Here here! To Skyrim! It’s… admittedly… chillier than Cicero imagined. Brr.” He imitated rubbing his arms as if he was cold, and then giggled. Finn’s lips twitched in a suppressed smile. This little weirdo was getting to her, his laughter was infectious.

 

That tiny smile, Cicero saw it! He felt a tiny flood of victory, a little pride, oh he wanted to see this emotionless lady, well, for lack of better term, emote! Such irony that Cicero thought this stone wall of a woman was a performer. He could almost laugh at his own silly delusions! He had to continue talking to this mysterious satyr. But gods damn it, just, just as Cicero was to ask another question! Loreius, pesky, annoying, unhelpful Loreius interrupted.

 

“Err, Cicero, sir, I’ve fixed your wagon. Uh, you can be on your way now.” He interjected, then turned and hastily made his way back up to his farm, definitely not wanting to stick around.

“Yes, Cicero can be on his way now.” The jester growled through gritted teeth, but then immediately regained his cheery attitude and slid off of the rocks.

“It was positively wonderful speaking to kind, tolerant Finny! Cicero thanks you for your time, and not a single wolf has bothered us! How lucky! Thank you, thank you again Miss Finny!”

 

Finn slowly slid off the rock and watched him mount his cart, pause, and tap his chin thoughtfully. Had he forgotten something? Finn glanced around to see if he had left anything behind, a coin purse, juggling balls, maybe? But there was nothing in sight. Cicero shook his head, muttered something with a forlorn glance at the crate that sat in his wagon, and then back at Finn. He grinned widely and waved.

 

“Cicero thanks you! _Mother thanks you!_ Goodbye, sweet Finny!” And with that, his wagon rolled off into the darkness, towards Whiterun. That’s where Finn was headed, but something told her he wouldn’t be stopping in Whiterun tonight. Finn sat for a moment in the darkness, listening to the wind and the crickets that trilled in the high plains grasses and amid the fragrant mountain wildflowers that grew along the road. The wind picked up for a moment, and a feeling akin to a thick, cold, but comforting feeling seeped over her briefly, as if she was swimming in a pool of ice cold sludge. Somewhere amid the wind, for the briefest moment, Finn swore she heard an elderly woman’s voice hissing out to her.

 

**_“Thank you, my child.”_ **

  
  
The feeling was gone as soon as it came. It was too dark, she realized. Her mind was starting to play tricks on her. She shook it off and mounted her horse quickly, gently digging her hooves into its sides. The mare whinnied softly and started off, following the winding trail to Whiterun.


	2. Ancient Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn gets in a fist fight and agrees to run a reverse burglary for that sweet, sweet cash money

Finn was up early the next morning. She’d woken from the bed she’d been able to rent for 10 Septims from Hulda, the kind bartender and owner of The Bannered Mare, Whiterun’s sole tavern. For a brief moment she had expected to awaken in bed back home, listening to the calls of deep woods animals early in the morning. Instead she was met with the monotonous murmur of an almost-empty tavern, spare for a few people having conversations as they ate breakfast. Speaking of which. Finn sat up and groomed herself, fixing her messy hair and adjusting her hides, which she had slept in. If she were home, she would have bathed,but such a luxury was not permitted in this new life, not yet, at least. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of homesickness, but quickly brushed it off.

 

10 Septims left- no, wait. She’d almost forgotten about her encounter with the odd jester on the road. 360 Septims, counting the 20 she had before, minus 10 for the room she rented last night. 360 Septims would be plenty enough for her to afford a cheap breakfast and some drinks to go.

 

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Would you like some breakfast before heading out, traveler?” Hulda called to Finn as she descended the wooden stairs into the main room of the tavern. Eyeing the fire that was still blazing in the pit that rested in the center of the floor, Finn nodded and rubbed sleep from her eyes, before sitting at the bar table.

 

“What can I get you? Is this for the road or for here?” The woman asked, tired but still friendly to the satyr. Hulda had been quite interested in the woman last night, hoping to ask questions about her, but to the barkeeper’s disappointment, Finn had immediately gone to bed and slept.

 

“Mmmm… I was planning on eating here but taking something for the road. Do you have anything hot and ready? I need something to wake me up.” She mumbled, resting her cheek on her hand. Hulda nodded.

 

“I’m serving warm glazed citrus sweetrolls with biscuits and apple butter, and we just got a shipment of boar bacon jerky that I’m having Saadia heat up. Does any of that sound good?” Finn was practically drooling. She nodded.

“Could I get a sweetroll and two biscuits with a small pouch of that jerky? And um… what drinks do you suggest?” She asked softly, rapping her fingers on the counter gently.

“I recommend Honningbrew Mead. It’s sweet but gives a good kick that would probably keep you going on the road. Saadia, dear, did you catch any of that?”

The Redguard woman, who had been standing nearby, nodded and straightened up.

“Yes mum. How many bottles of mead?” Hulda glanced at Finn, who raised 2 fingers.  
“Two, dear.” Hulda responded.

 

Saadia nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. It only took a few minutes before she was back with a tray of food and two bottles of mead, which Finn gratefully accepted and then shelled out the money. The mead was a pricy 40 Septims, much more than she had expected, but the biscuits were only 5, the jerky was 10, and the sweetroll 15. 60 Septims were passed to Hulda, who thanked her and left her to eat. As Finn ate her sweetroll, she thought about what was next. Would she still head for Windhelm? That seemed like the best option at this point, though she was told that Windhelm would be cold, it was still the only place she knew of. Maybe she’d ask Hulda.

 

“Miss Hulda, excuse me. Do you know much about Windhelm? I’m looking to travel there but I don’t know the way and I have no knowledge of the place.” Hulda blinked and stopped sweeping the inn floor.

 

“Windhelm? Cold place, you know. It’s another walled off city like Whiterun. Run by Stormcloaks, if you know about them. If not, just stay out of their way and don’t talk about politics or Imperials and you’ll be fine. There’s a market there too from what I’ve heard, if you need that sort of thing. Oh- yes, I knew I was forgetting something. The Nords there, I should warn you, are… racist, Anyone that isn’t… well, a Nord, is subject to their cruelty. I’ve heard they’re especially vicious to the Argonians- they don’t even get to live in the city like the Dark Elves do, they have to stay in a cramped bunkhouse on the docks. I’m not sure how they’d treat someone… like you… but I’d advise you to be especially careful.” Finn took her advice seriously and nodded solemnly. She decided she’d still take her chances in Windhelm, but keep her wits about her. She finished one of her mead bottles, scarfed down one of her biscuits, and then stood, putting the remaining biscuit in the jerky pouch.

 

“Thank you, ma’am. One last thing- Would you know the way to Windhelm?”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Finn was in the wilds of skyrim, riding her horse through the snow in silence. Her bow rested on her back, but she remained alert for the snarls of hungry wolves or the terrifying sounds of a Frostbite Spider making its way through the snowy trees. Hulda had told her this was the safest way to go, spare for a few wolves and spiders. Bandits weren’t supposed to be a problem, and she hoped that claim held true. As she rode, she paid close attention to her surroundings. The trees that passed by and some of the landmarks, As she neared a crossroad by the river, drunken but cheerful voices called out to her. She squinted and glanced around for the source, finding three drunken men laughing and stumbling about in the snow. The sight would have been funny if they hadn’t noticed Finn, who they were now trying to convince to join them.

 

“Hail friend! It’s good to see another merry soul enjoying this fine day! You look weary from your travels, come, share a bottle of Honningbrew Mead with us! It’s the best mead in Tamriel!” The reveler joyfully called, raiding his half-empty bottle of mead. Finn’s nose twitched. She reached into the small saddlebag on her horse’s saddle and ran her finger over the bottle of mead she’d stored for later. It was Honningbrew.

 

“I’ve got to get to Windhelm, but how about I give you my bottle? Why only have one when you can have two?.” She responded, riding her horse closer and pulling the mead from her saddlebag for the men to see. One of the drunks, a man with a tangled mess of long black hair, cheered and whooped at the sight.

 “Now there’s a woman after my own heart!” The first man cried. Finn shrugged and tossed the bottle to the revelers, letting the main speaker catch it. He laughed merrily and held it up like a priceless treasure, for the others to see. More cheering ensued.

 The speaker who had initially gotten her attention moved closer, nearly falling flat on his face in the process. He smiled and placed a hand on her horse’s flank, causing the white mare to flinch for a second from the sudden contact.

 “My friend, this good deed shouldn’t go unrewarded-” Finn raised an eyebrow, looking down at the man with curiosity. The reveler produced a glittering gold necklace from his coin purse. Something shimmered over the surface of the shining amulet, like a thin ripple of colored water. It was enchanted, Finn recognized it instantly.

 “What’s it enchanted with?” She asked, wondering if the man’s intentions were pure.

“Not sure, friend! I’ve only worn it twice, but when I did, Everything I’d been carrying felt much lighter!” Finn nodded and stared at the necklace, to which the reveler took her hand and pressed the charmed necklace into with a warm smile.

“Cheers, good merrywoman, may your travels be kind to you!” He laughed, and stumbled off to rejoin his friends, who had started to wander down the road, taking another path away from Windhelm. Finn shook her head and pocketed the necklace. She didn’t have any use for it, but maybe she could sell it when she got to Windhelm.

 

* * *

 

 

Walking into Windhelm was easier said than done. Dismounting and leading her horse into the stables was easy enough, but on her way to entering the city, two guards had stopped her, pestering her with questions. Most of them about Imperials and spies, to which she shrugged and merely admitted that she was a foreigner looking to pawn some stuff off and look for work. This seemed to be enough for the guards, who finally relented and let her enter. The excited chattering between the two guards did not go unheard as she slipped through the impressively large doors to the city.

 

Windhelm was cold. And huge, and gave off a very unfriendly aura. So caught up in the sudden rush of the harsh city, she nearly missed a Dunmer woman, who was currently being cornered by two Nords, spitting racist insults at the grey-skinned elf. Finn watched with mild interest as the woman tried to hold her ground, but was taken aback when one of the ords accused her of being a spy, and followed it with a rather grim implication. Finn decided it was time to step in, lurching suddenly between them. Her hooves gave her an advantage, setting her much taller than the Nords, to which she looked down at as she towered over them. The man in rags took a step back, visibly intimidated by this large woman with horns like a Daedra. (Of course he’d never seen a Daedra with his own two eyes, but something humanoid with a set of large horns surely fit the description.) The other man didn’t back down as easily.

 

“Is there a problem here?” Finn asked, showing neither interest nor any semblance of irritation at the man. Once again, she was unreadable, her signature intimidation tactic. (Even when she didn’t intend to.)

“Yes, I think there is, with these Dunmer skulking around the city where they don’t belong- and now you, who are you? With those horns and those big hooves I’d mistake you for some wench’s unfortunate one night fling with a goat.” He sneered, stepping closer to challenge her. The insult rolled right off on Finn’s back, and she instead raised an eyebrow.

“Was that supposed to make me angry, little man? You’re like a tick. Annoying little things, but you can squeeze their little heads and they’re gone with one little satisfying _pop._ ” She punctuated her words with an imitation of killing a tick. This infuriated the man.  
  
“Rolff, I think we should go…” The man in rags mumbled, backing away. Rolff didn’t back down, instead hissing into her face, where Finn could very well smell the stench of ale.  
“I’m not a parasite, like these grey-skins here are. You gonna keep running your mouth, goat? Or do you want to get your ass beat, so you can see how we handle outsiders like you in Windhelm?”

 

“If it’s a fight you were wanting, you could have asked.” Finn mumbled. Rolff gave a sinister, toothy grin.

“100 Septims says I beat your stinking livestock face into the stone.” He challenged.

“Really that confident? It’s your grave, drunkard.” Finn replied cooly.

“Fine then! No weapons, fight me like a Nord! Or will you lie down and take it, and make this as easy as shooting a deer?” Finn’s lips twitched. Something about being compared to a deer infuriated her. She _hated_ deer, how they acted superior to everyone, much like high elves to other races. Much like Nords to beast races, but with more insufferable grace. She grit her teeth and took a step back.

 

“It’s too late to back down now, goat!” Rolff followed his words with a sluggish swing. His steps were messy and he stumbled a little, likely from the effects of the ale he’d been drinking. This would be easy, Finn assumed, but decided to keep her wits about her. Too much confidence would only lead her to failure.

 

She stepped sideways, avoiding the swing and aiming a blow at the side of his jaw, which caught him. There was a sharp sound of impact as her fist met his jaw, knocking him sideways. She whirled on her hooves, preparing to sink another blow into his face or any open spot she could take. Her hooves slipped on the icy stone and suddenly her legs were out from under her, and her ass painfully hit the stone. The dark elf, who hadn’t left, gasped softly and backed up. Rolff cackled and jeered at her, but he wasn’t done. He advanced on her quickly and made to swing at her face, likely vengeance for his jaw. This was a fist fight, but Finn was in no mood to follow rules. Her right leg tensed and she brought it close to her body, like a spring recoiling. Rolff realized too late what was about to happen, and suddenly he was struck square in the gut by a swift kick of a cloven hoof. The impact felt like getting struck by a horse, and Rolff was sent skidding backwards, landing square on his back. His head collided with the stone steps and he was out cold. Finn stood up, brushing herself off and checking for any injuries. The ice had nicked her skin a little, but it was nothing to be concerned about. She got lucky this time.

 

The man in rags sat frozen, staring in shock at his unconscious companion. There was no blood, but Rolff almost looked dead.

“You- You didn’t… did you?” Finn shook her head with a snort.

“No, your buddy is just out cold. Could be worse. Now, do you mind retrieving the money that was promised? I think he owes me a solid 100 Septims. She held out her hand and motioned with her fingers. The man in rags whimpered and reluctantly walked over and dug through Rolff’s coin purse.

 

“He’s only got 50 Septims, but there’s also a ring in here, could I offer that on his behalf?” The man shakily suggested. Finn shook her head.

“No, forget it. Just give me the gold. I don’t want to risk being accused of theft by this jackass.” She grumbled, and the man flinched. He quickly scurried closer and dropped the Septims into her outstretched hand, and then backed away and sat down next to Rolff, likely waiting until the man was conscious again. Finn turned to the Dunmer woman with a sigh.

“Are you alright? Thank you for standing up for me, those ugly Nords never know when to stop sometimes. It’s a real-” She paused, looking up at Finn. For the first time, someone really had the chance to take in her appearance. She was tall, slender and shapely, but interestingly enough, her shoulders were much wider set than most women’s. She had a mix of light and dark skin, the lighter skin mostly masking her face, but framed by the darker skin that surrounded her eyes and faded to light skin down her nose. Her hair was an interesting shade of warm off-white, wispy, curly, and cut short so that most of it hardly went past her ears. Her horns curled like a goat’s, large and impressive on her head. Her eyes were striking. They were rimmed with a pink-red, like an albino animal would have, but the eyes themselves were the prettiest mix of silver and red-pink the Dunmer had seen, as if they were made of Heart Stone, lined with silver. The woman was lost for words for a minute, and Finn tilted her head at the sudden silence.

 

“...I’m fine. And I’m 50 Septims richer, which isn’t too bad.” She commented awkwardly, trying to distract from the staring. The Dunmer cleared her throat and sighed.

“My name is Suvaris. Suvaris Atheron. If there’s anything I can do to repay you for your kindness, just tell me. Outsiders like us need to stick together, right?” She offered hopefully. Finn shrugged, but nodded in agreement.

“There is one thing- Nothing too tall of a request. Do you know where would be a good place to sell some stuff? I was gifted a necklace and I really need the money.” Finn asked, patting her coin purse, where she had moved the necklace to. Suvaris had an expression of recognition and pointed at an icy stairway leading down into what looked like another part of the city.

 

“On the far end of that street down there, there’s a pawn store. You can’t miss it, Revyn has the thing decorated and there’s a sign out front. It’s called Sadri's Used Wares. You can probably get some money for it there.” She instructed. Finn gave a grateful nod and turned to leave.  
“Thanks, Suvaris.” She added, walking in the direction the Dunmer had directed.

 

* * *

 

 

Sadri's Used Wares was exactly where the elf had instructed. The store was decorated with banners reminiscent of Dunmer culture, eyecatching and a little enchanting. Finn pushed open the shop door, and a bell rung overhead. The shopkeeper perked to attention, straightening himself.

 

“Ah! Welcome to Sadri's Used Wares, miss! I’m Revyn Sadri, is there anything you’re needing in particular?” The Dunmer asked kindly. There was a nervous expression on his face, that he was attempting to mask. Finn decided to overlook the anxiety and pulled the necklace from her coin purse.

 “I acquired this necklace on the road today. It’s useless to me, but I was hoping I could get some money for it, at least.” She set the necklace on the counter and looked at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. The dunmer lifted the necklace up and inspected it. Enchanted, made of gold, intricately carved and designed- he was beginning to question the means of how this odd woman ‘acquired’ the necklace. She wasn’t dressed like a noblewoman, or someone remotely rich.

 “And… how exactly did you ah, get this necklace?” He asked calmly, trying to contain his anxiety. Stolen goods meant jail time or high taxes for him, something he wasn’t interested in tangling with. Not with the problems he was already dealing with.

“I offered a drunkard a bottle of mead, so he gave me this necklace as repayment. It’s enchanted, I’m pretty sure the enchantment is a form of fortifying strength for carrying items.” There was a pause.  
“I can assure you that I didn’t steal it from someone.” She added quickly.

 

The Dunmer nodded cautiously and set the necklace down. Maybe this woman could help, she seemed honest and trustworthy enough. Maybe it was his anxiety starting to mount, but he didn’t care. He needed this problem solved silently.

 

“I can offer you 150 Septims for the necklace, it’s not a pricy enchantment but it’s a fair price.” He finally spoke, unlocking his strongbox under the counter. Finn pursed her lips and shifted her eyes, but hummed in approval.

“That’s fine. I’ll take that.”

“Wonderful. Here’s your money. I have… another offer for you, If you’d be interested in making some more coin.” He babbled hastily, sliding her money across the counter, which Finn pocketed in her nearly-full purse. 300 Septims from this morning, plus the 50 from the fight, plus the 150 right now meant 500 Septims. She felt a tiny rush of relief, she had enough money to survive for now. But Revyn’s offer had piqued her interest. More money was always a good thing.

 

“What is it?” She asked, crossing her arms. Revyn felt his legs go weak for a minute with relief.

“I think I was sold a ring from… Suspicious origins. I have reason to believe that this ring belongs to a woman named Viola, and that it was stolen from her. O-Obviously I can’t keep the thing, Us Dark Elves are already very uh… stereotyped and discriminated against. Something like this could put me out of business!” He stammered, pulling the ring out and sliding it across the counter.

“Please tell me you’ll return it to her- but please, don’t let her know I had it! If you wait until night you can break into her house and place it in her lockbox.” He advised, a pleading tone in his voice.

 

Finn raised her hands in defense and sighed. Breaking into a house for her first job. This would be interesting.  
“How much are you offering for this. I could get arrested if I’m caught.” She warned. The Dunmer flinched and tapped his fingers together.

“I’ll pay you 350 Septims as coverage- and I’ll buy you a night at Candlehearth Hall- the tavern in the middle of the city. Does that work?” He asked nervously, wringing his hands. Finn nodded and grabbed the ring. It was cold in her hands. And the gold glinted in the candlelight of the store.

 

“Keep your shop unlocked until 2 AM. I’ll replace the ring and meet you here for payment. You can lock it if I fail to show up by 2. These are my terms.” She grunted, and left the store.

  
Tonight would be interesting, but for now, she was going to browse the market while it was still open.


	3. That Was Always There

Night came quickly and Finn was quite pleased. The marketplace had rewarded her with good deals, as most of the things she was looking for were discounted. An Altmer selling armors for discounted prices was her first stop, to which she bought Scaled Armor and Scaled Bracers from. The helmet and boots didn’t fit her, unfortunately, so she settled for what she could get. The armor was surprisingly discounted to only 280 Septims in total, to which the Altmer claimed has half the price with a resigned expression. Sales must have been difficult for her. For extra measure, Finn purchased a Dwarven dagger for 50 Septims. She contemplated buying some potions, but her basic skill with healing magic would most likely be less costly. She refrained. She sold off her hide armor for 60 Septims total and called it a day, proudly wearing her new scaled armor with 230 shiny Septims still in her purse. After which she remembered she was supposed to be breaking into a house, to which she took a detour and bought a lockpicking set from a beggar and got some basic training for 20 septims. 210 Septims left.

Finn paid close attention to her money by habit. Where she grew up, money was not needed and not very well understood, so it was instead collected as a hobby, much like shell collecting. Finn had no clue of the value the money she had until she’d presented the stable manager who’d sold her the horse with half of the money she owned. She had spent the rest on food and armor. (That had been extremely overpriced in Cyrodiil, as she’d discovered. Or perhaps her unfamiliarity to money lead her to be taken advantage of?) Septims were a new concept and still considered extremely valuable to her, especially when the Imperials in Cyrodiil seemed to put so much emphasis on the value. Now that she had to start from rock bottom again, she was beginning to develop a Septim-pincher habit, constantly keeping track of her money at all times.

She sat now in front of Candlehearth Hall, watching and waiting for the houses around her to fall dark and silent. She’d asked around earlier where Viola’s house was, passing it off as her being an old friend she was looking to visit. Surprisingly, the lie worked well, and no questions were asked. With the directions now memorized, she just had to wait. She slipped the ring out of her purse and turned it over in her hands, feeling the carved designs in it and studying the texture of the ring against her skin. Finn always had a certain affinity for textures, preferring the smoothness of metal or the softness of fur against her fingers. The ring was no exception, and the little engravings on it’s surface felt interesting.

 

* * *

 

Finn estimated it was about 11 PM when Windhelm finally fell silent, spare for the lit braziers, murmur from inside the tavern, and a few guards that were making their rounds. Finn stood and silently slipped through the back alleys, careful to avoid passing guards. They wouldn’t be walking around the homes, their torchlight would be too much of a disturbance to Nords trying to sleep. Finn made her way through the darkness, using shadows to hide herself. A fleeting memory from childhood long ago briefly stirred, the scenario reminding her of how she was taught to move with silence between the shadows of trees as a kid. Back there, within the comfort of the woods, they were taught stealth for hunting. She never expected to apply those skills to crime. But was breaking and entering to give something back really a crime? Finn hardly thought so. She dug around in the small satchel attached to her armor, and slipped lockpicking tools out. She’d never picked a lock before, but Silda’s training gave her a basic understanding of how it worked. Hopefully that’s all she needed.

It only took Finn several tries before she was unable to unlock the door. But soon enough, she’d slipped inside silently, shutting the door behind her as softly as she could. Inside the house, Finn looked around for a strongbox, or some sort of jewelry box. She found a dresser, and on top of it, bingo. A strongbox. It was locked, and Finn immediately attempted to pick the lock. It was much tougher to pick, and eventually Finn grew impatient and quit. Instead, she hurriedly sat the ring on the dresser next to the box, and speedwalked back to the door. Listening for the sound of footfall through the wood, Finn hesitated. There was none, so she quickly slipped out into the streets and shut the door, then started off at a quick pace.

 

She remained in the shadows, sneaking in silence until she reached the Grey Quarter. She located Revyn’s shop and tried the door. Unlocked, as instructed. Soon enough she was inside, face to face with an exhausted looking Revyn.

“...So, did you… Is it done?” He whispered. Finn nodded with a bored expression.  
“Yes, I committed reverse-burglary for you. She didn’t even stir from her sleep.” Revyn relaxed instantly and pushed the coin purse over.  
“There’s your 400. Since you did this so fast and silently, I added a bonus.” Finn was surprised, but kept her bored exterior.  
“And Candlehearth…?” Finn asked, flicking melted snow off of her horns.

“I was thinking… what you did for me was awfully nice, and you’re a really… interesting woman…” Finn’s fingers twitched. She didn’t have the energy or emotions to deal with this. Previously, when Finn was confronted with an awkward situation, her best solution was to ether run as fast as her hooves could take her, or use violence. This time, headbutting a shopkeeper unconscious would probably not end well for her.

“And It’s late- And if you’ve heard the rumors, there’s a serial killer running loose in Windhelm- The Butcher… He likes to target fine women like you… Maybe it would interest you to spend the night with me?” He leaned on the counter, peering up at her hopefully. Finn didn’t feel anything. Even if she wanted to emote, it probably would have been deadpan. It was simple: Finn didn’t feel or understand love. She was apathetic socially, and somewhat internally, affected by past experiences to the point that a thick hide had developed over her emotions, one that only a trigger word or a traumatizing experience could pierce. The few emotions she did feel were mostly a form of annoyance or mild curiosity. And Finn much preferred to remain emotionless, given those options.

“...Right. So look, I’m gonna be honest with you instead of pulling a fast one and resorting to headbutting you into Oblivion’s realm of unconscious people. I don’t feel emotions. I don’t love. I just drink mead and wine until I fall asleep and then move on to the next town and look for more coin. Take this as you will, for god’s sakes be rational because this isn’t some gods-damned tragedy poetry where you need to save me from myself or some shit. I’m tired and I could do with a drink. If you aren’t paying for my room, I have no other business with you.” Delivered perfectly monotone, as if some Dwarven construct had taken her place for a brief moment.

 

Revyn was silent for a minute with the expression much similar to a rabbit cornered by a wolf. Finn would have felt guilty for being rude if she could, but in honesty, she didn’t care. At all. She wanted her payment, and she wanted to sleep.

“...R-Right. Um. In that case uh… I had someone speak to the owner of the bar earlier today and paid in advance...Just in case...” Finn squinted at him as she dumped the contents of her smaller coin purse into the 400 in the purse Revyn had given her. 610 Septims. That felt like a fine amount. She turned and exited the shop, calling out to him before she shut the door.

“Thanks for the money though, I needed this.” And she was gone.

 

Revyn sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

Candlehearth Hall was warm and the upstairs was still somewhat lively. The low murmur of voices sharing stories of the day echoed down from above, and somewhere, someone was playing a lute. Finn sighed and sat down at the bar counter. The innkeeper stared at her for a minute with an expression of incredulity before finally speaking.

“You- You the whatcha-ma-callit someone booked a room for?” The Elderly woman asked, her tone still shaking with disbelief. Finn nodded.  
“To be honest I thought it was a joke, and someone was really makin an effort to bother an old woman, but, well, by Talos, here you are! Oh- I’m the innkeeper, you may call me Elda. I-I just can’t believe you’re- they’re real... “ Finn snorted and slid 20 septims across the counter.  
“I get that a lot. D’ya have Honningbrew Mead here? I’ll take a bottle of that if you do, and what were the specials for tonight?”

Elda sputtered something and took the Septims, then produced a bottle of mead.  
“Here you go, and our soup for tonight was a Venison Stew. I believe there’s some left, if that sounds good to you?” Finn felt some sick twist in her chest. She raised an eyebrow and nodded. Payback, that insult from the fight had scored deep, nearly puncturing the hide that protected her. Something buried within stirred, like the coils of a dormant Leviathan, stirring angrily in it’s sleep. Something she’d rather keep sealed until she could safely vent her emotions by herself. This was her own form of vengeance, a subtle subconscious way of coping that eased a little more emotional pain than any alcohol could ever.

 

 

And by the sun, that stew was damn delicious. Warm and filling, plus the mead, was enough to ease her into a sleepy, buzzed state. She decided she’d ask for rumors before going to bed, maybe she’d find more work. She caught Elda’s attention with a wave of her hand.  
“I’m a visitor here, don’t know much yet. Have you heard any rumors worth sharing?” She asked as sweetly as she could muster. (She looked more sleepy than sweet.) It did the trick anyways, and Elda was leaning over the counter, muttering to her.

“I’ve heard from some of my patrons, actually. Surely you already know about The Butcher, everyone’s been talking about it but- I’ve heard there’s a young boy that’s returned to his home. It’s the one that overpasses a street, if you’ve seen it. Orphan kid, bless his heart. But he’s up to some shady stuff. I’ve heard that he’s performing the Black Sacrament… Y’know the one, to summon the Dark Brotherhood? Yeah. I’d be careful if you run into that child, he might call them on anyone. You know how children are.”  
Finn nodded, feeling a strange twist in her gut. Almost like… Déjà vu. The Dark Brotherhood, that name sounded familiar. She’d overheard a similar conversation, a long, long time ago, though she couldn’t recall what for or why. She exhaled softly. Instead of helping her forget the events from today, the conversation only added more to the growing feeling of near-discomfort within her gut. Still, there was curiosity as well.

“Thank you for the warning, Elda. I think I’ll head to my room now, could you tell me where it is?” Elda nodded and pointed at the hallway.  
“Second room on the left, dear. It’s late, sleep well.”  
Finn finished paid for the stew and headed to bed. Something was calling to her, some internal mystery she’d never been able to resolve. She needed to know more about the Dark Brotherhood. Tomorrow, she’d investigate the Aretino boy. Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of a long distant memory, of two children playing by a spring.


	4. 4E 173, Valenwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life isn't fair.

“Fynnith!”

“Fynnith!!!”

 

Two little boys dashed alongside a spring, laughing and whooping in the warm spring light. Warm rays shafted through the leaves in the canopy of trees above them, bathing the grotto in golden light. A light mist had settled among the undergrowth, and brightly colored birds trilled and jabbered among the flora. Purple bursts of wild birds rose into the treetops as the children dashed over rocks and logs, their little hooves pattering across the jungle floor. Several adults carrying baskets chuckled and dodged the kids as they ran past.

“Fynnith!! Slow down!! You’re so fast! C’mon, I’ve been it for a while now!!”

“Yeah, more like four minutes. Can’t catch me!”

The white haired satyr boy giggled and sped ahead of the other, hurdling over a low hanging branch. The other boy, a chubby satyr with scruffy black hair, struggled to keep up, ducking under the same branch. He suddenly appeared to have an idea, and scaled a tree, his little hooves scrabbling against the bark as he ascended, just like his father had taught him. Following Fynnith, he leaped between branches until Fynnith paused and looked around, his little tail wiggling like a baby goat’s. His brother had disappeared, he suddenly realized.

“...Orchid…?” The black haired boy snickered and leapt from the branch, landing on top of his brother with a mock war cry. Fynnith bleated with surprise and squirmed out from under him, rolling sideways with a laugh as he realized what had just happened.

“Okay, you got me again! You win!” He cheered, shaking moss and dirt out of his hair.

“That was fun, but I’m tired… and hungry. We should go berry picking by the stream! There’s a really big berry bush underneath the deck of Arum’s tavern that I found yesterday. Sometimes you can even hear the adults talking about adult stuff, haha.” Orchid suggested. Fynnith snorted and flicked his tail.

“That sounds fun, maybe we can find out where dad’s been. He said he’d be home by Fredas, but it’s already Sundas!”

 

* * *

 

 

The boys rested under the deck, picking berries (and eating most of them), saving some to bring home to their mother. Fynnith frowned and pushed another berry past his lips, squeezing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth before swallowing it. He savored the tart sweetness of the berry, silent with thought. Something was bothering him, maybe Orchid would understand? He hoped asking his brother might offer some solace to his troubles.

“Ori, Do you ever feel like something isn’t right? Like uhhh… Oh I don’t know, Like you don’t belong, or you’re doing something wrong? Like something doesn’t fit or you’re keeping a secret that you shouldn’t be?”

Orchid squinted and shoved more berries into his mouth, then spoke with his mouth full.

“No, not really Fynnith. I mean, sometimes I feel bad if I do something that makes momma upset but like, that’s not the same.” Fynnith snorted at him, finding his voice when his mouth was full quite funny.

“But really, Ori, I feel like something isn’t right, you know? I look at other girls in the village and I never feel interested in them at all. They’re cool but I don’t… like like them like the adults say I will.” He mumbled nervously.

“We’re 11 Fynnith. Momma says we ain’t even old enough to like like girls.esides, girls are weird.” Orchid laughed, tossing a berry up into the air and catching it with his mouth.

“No they’re not! They’re just… They don’t like the stuff that boys like sometimes. They’re a little different, so what?” He huffed, crossing his arms.

“Fynnith, you don’t like much of the stuff that boys like. And you’re terrified of insects like some of the girls are. What does that make you?” Orchid asked, his question carrying no malicious intent. Fynnith sat quietly for a minute, as if a huge revelation suddenly came over him.

“...I don’t know, Orchid.”

 

* * *

 

 

  
The boys sat under the deck for a while, napping in the shade as the afternoon grew on. The sun’s journey shifted the rays of light and warmed the jungle, and the cacophony of birds and insects became louder. Somewhere in the distance, a monkey called out through the trees. Fynnith woke to the sound of voices from the deck of the tavern above. They were hushed, but he could still make out every word. Words that would change his life forever, in due time.

“...Sanctuary is destroyed. Everyone’s dead, Arum. Some of ours were slaughtered. We lost Lily and Ibis. We should have never agreed to let the Dark Brotherhood hide their sanctuary so close to us, we should have never interacted with them at all.” There was a deep pit in his stomach. Fynnith recognized those names, Ibis was one of the elderly women who helped with medicine. Lily was a cook and guard, he remembered when she’d gave him and his brother fresh pastries on Morndas afternoons.

“And what of Maccain and Hibissyn?” There was a feeling of dread and a sickness washing over him. Hibissyn was his father.

“Maccain has vanished. We fear the worst… Hibissyn… Well… It was so horrible. He’s dead, Arum. They killed him, and ot just that. They… they did such horrible things to him. As a sign, a warning. It was so disgusting.”

“By the sun… Stella, her poor children…”

 

Something twisted inside of Fynnith. There was a horrible sensation, as if an arrow had pierced him straight through the throat. His face felt like it was on fire, but yet his throat wouldn’t let him speak, or cry out. Fynnith understood death. His parents made sure he understood from a young age, when he lost his first pet, a bird he had named Juniper. The amount of pain he’d felt then couldn’t be compared to the this feeling. This was more than death to Fynnith. He understood what this meant, but he didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. His father, the strongest, kindest, bravest Satyr in the grotto was gone. Tears streamed down the boy’s face. This wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. How was his mother feeling, did she know? It wasn’t fair! He wiped tears from his cheeks and wiped his runny nose against his clothes. Orchid snored softly next to him. He started to wake him, cry to him, but decided against it. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t hurt his brother like that, he couldn’t bear the guilt.

 

Instead he sat silently, muffling his sobs in his shirt.

 

 

This wasn’t fair.


	5. Innocence Lost

Finn felt like shit. She probably looked like shit too, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t remember what she’d dreamed about last night, but whatever it was gave her a sick feeling that carried over into the waking morning. She groaned and laid her head back on the pillow for a moment, sitting in silence as the now waking tavern slowly came to life outside her door. 

 

Fuck. Get up you idiot, you’ve forgotten about the kid. 

 

Finn jerked upright with a gasp and scrambled to get up, her hooves slipping against the wood floor for a minute and threatening to send her flat on her ass. Shit, shit, shit. What time was it? She had no clue and she wanted to see the kid immediately and fill in the voids of her childhood and- wait, what the hell, was that. Finn backed up and peered at herself in the mirror hung above the washing basin in her room. Oh, that was great, wonderful. All around her jaw, once more for the first time in a while, were the dark, obvious pattern of stubble, enough to be noticed. Probably noticed last night, too. She wondered how long it’d been there. She groaned louder and dug around in her pockets for her razor.  _ Hello, old friend _ , she thought as she produced it from her pocket. This would be a nightmare. 

 

After that painful and embarrassing blow to her already near-shattered esteem, she was out of the tavern and into the cold. The sun was just starting to rise, but the streets were still fairly darkened. The freezing wind bit at the fresh razor nicks on her face, frosting over the pricks of blood that had welled forth. She hissed and flinched back, as if she could retreat from wind that was all around. She’d better hurry. Recalling from memory, the location of the Aretino residence was close. She quickly navigated to the door, and paused, making sure no one was about. She tried the doorknob. Locked. She deadpanned and whipped out her lockpicks clumsily. Her efforts paid off, and she was inside, shutting the door silently and ascending the stairs. 

 

She couldn’t see his face, for he was turned to the wall, but the child was asleep in bed. This was, without a doubt, suddenly extremely awkward. She cleared her throat and rapped her knuckles on the wall. The child whimpered and shifted under the scrappy, moth eaten blankets. 

“Five more minutes, ma…” Finn felt her soul go to oblivion. 

“Yo, kid.” She grunted. 

 

The boy jumped out of bed faster than a khajiit on skooma could jump over the moon. He scrambled to stand straight and stood frozen in a mixture of terror and… something else…? It hit Finn like an arrow to the chest. A pang of familiarity, something she saw in his face that stirred an old memory within her. She inhaled sharply and steadied herself, trying to ignore that she was face to face with someone who looked like someone she very much used to know. 

 

“You… you came, you actually came! Of course I thought you’d be wearing something more evil looking… but I guess you’d stick out in the crowds if you did! Are those little marks on your face from fights with your victims? Oh, I’m just so excited!” 

Finn tilted her head with confusion, luckily uncaught by the boy. Oh, wait. He thought she was a member of the Dark Brotherhood, didn’t he. Okay, keep it together, maybe this is in your favor, maybe you can get some information this way. Would it be wrong to impersonate a member of the Brotherhood? She wasn’t sure. Whatever, she did what she wanted, when she wanted.    
  


"I did the Black Sacrament, over and over. With the body, and the... the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!" 

Finn nodded and acted like she understood. 

“Yes, I’m here. Is there a reason you contacted us or did you just want to meet one of the assassins?” She asked calmly, leaning against the wall. 

“Oh, yeah… My mother, she... she died. I… I’m all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible Orphanage in Riften. Honorhall. The headmistress there is an evil, cruel woman. Everyone calls her Grelod the Kind, but don’t be fooled. She’s not kind at all. She’s terrible, to all of us.” 

Finn felt a pang of something in her chest. Sympathy? Maybe it was raw anger at that woman. It was an emotion, nonetheless. A new one.    
  


“-So I ran away, and came home. I performed the Black Sacrament. And you’re here! You’re finally here and you can  _ kill  _ Grelod for me!” Oh shit, right. She remembered someone talking about Grelod in riften, said she was a nasty old woman at the orphanage. She’d suppose she’d have to kill someone, which wasn’t morally a problem for her, but she didn’t fancy the possible idea of having a bounty for murder if she was caught. She wasn’t gonna let them take her to jail, of course, she’d just have to run. But the kid’s face, it still left a bittersweet feeling lingering. Her heart hurt, and she realized she wasn’t going to be able to say no.

 

“Alrighty then. Murder a shitty old woman for you?” Aventus seemed to recoil at her usage of foul language, and then broke into a wide, excited grin. Kids these days. 

“Yes, please! Murder Grelod! I’ll pay you for it too! Just kill that… that… shitty old woman!” His face peeked up at hers for some semblance of approval, a smile or a laugh to let him know that using the word made him look cool to this ‘Assassin’. Welp, there goes her heart, cleaved in two. Right there, for a few minutes, the beast’s hide broke, and emotion shone through. She smiled, genuinely and approvingly at the familiar looking child. And it felt wonderful. He giggled excitedly, and though the situation was definitely depraved, Finn found her own emotional solace within the gleeful laughing of the child before her. 

 

“Then it’ll be done. You can bet on it. I’ll see you soon, Aretino.” He looked surprised that she’d mentioned his surname, but said nothing, too wrapped up in starstruck excitement. A Dark Brotherhood member, in the flesh, and even cooler, she was some kind of goat daedra! ...At least he thought it was. It was as if he was truly blessed by the Night Mother. 

 

Finn exited the residence and closed the door behind her. In front of her, standing on the street in the shadows, was a little girl she hadn’t seen around Windhelm during her stay yet. She braced herself for questions, maybe a confirmation that the boy was contacting the Brotherhood, but none came. She waved at the child, an unnerved feeling starting to settle in her gut at the way the child stared at her. As she passed, the little girl smiled, and she could have sworn she’d seen a set of sharp, sharp fangs. 

 

* * *

  
  


The ride to Riften was smooth for the most part, several wolves bothered her as she reached The Rift, which she scared off when she’d shot an arrow into one’s flank. It was late afternoon by now, but not dark just yet. This worked in her favor, as she estimated she had time to visit Keerava and thank her, as well as make herself seem as unsuspicious as possible. Upon dismounting and walking up to the gates, a guard gasped and glanced at the other guard. 

 

“You’re that goat woman from before- The... The uh-” 

“Satyr? Yeah, that’s me.” She replied cooly. 

“What business do you have in Riften again, traveler?” The guard asked, and Finn shrugged.

“Oh, not much this time, just  _ repaying someone for her kindness _ and tying up some loose ends.”

  
  


The city was still at a busy, afternoon bustle, as merchants packed up their stalls for the night and went home, customers satisfied and heading for the tavern or the small Bunkhouse towards the entrance of the city. Finn made a beeline for the Bee and Barb. She’d buy a room from Keerava and say hi, get a bite to eat, and then kill the hag and flee back to Windhelm to confirm the kill with the child. Strange in her head, but she guessed this is just how it’d work. She opened the back door of the tavern and entered, greeted with a warm, buttery smell and the loud clamor of the inn. She settled down at the bar counter and pulled out her coin purse. Keerava certainly looked surprised, when she turned around and stood face to face with a familiar looking woman. 

 

“I know this one, yes?” Keerava tilts her head, squinting at Finn. 

“I’d hope you did, since you lent me your wool shawl.” The satyr snorted, and slid the old shawl over the counter. Keerava’s face lit up with recognition, her scales glimmering in the candlelight. 

“You, you’re the satyr! I didn’t expect to see you once more in Riften. I’m to assume you have business here?”    
“More or less, yeah, and I thought I’d stop in and thank you, as well as rent a room and get something to eat. Got any rooms?” She slid 10 Septims across the counter. Keerava grinned. 

“You up for a drink? My fiancé has some new mixes in that he made himself. They’re quite popular.” Finn waved a hand. She couldn’t get drunk and botch her mission. 

“No, thank you. Not tonight, at least. I gotta keep my wits about me.” Keerava seemed a little curious, but nodded and said nothing. 

‘What’ll it be then?” 

“Whatever that buttery smell is, I’ll have that.”

 

* * *

  
  


585 Septims now. It was dark by the time Finn had finished talking and conversing with Keerava and the other customers. She stood, stretched and scratched her jaw. Time to get to work. 

“I’ll be back later tonight, I need to take a walk and go talk to someone.” 

“Alrighty, stay safe out there. Thieves are everywhere.” Finn nodded and exited the tavern. 

 

If she remembered correctly, the entrance of the orphanage would be guarded by patrolling guards. Entering there would cause too much suspicion and immediately pin her as a suspect if she was seen. There was, however, a gate to the outside of the city, and she was sure that she could slip through a window from the back if she was quick and silent. She exited the city and walked down the docks. Bingo, there was a window. She was a good climber, despite her hooves. 

 

It took some effort, but she scrambled her way up to the window mostly silently, save for a few knee bumps against the wall. She clawed at the window. Luckily, it was unlocked, and she could slip inside, which is exactly what she did. It was silent inside, but the stench of the orphanage was almost overwhelming. Finn did her best to stop herself from gagging. Don’t think too much about it, just kill the target. This was a first. Did she truly have the nerve to kill a living being? Sure, she’d killed animals before, and only once did she have to kill an Imperial, in self defence. This was different though. It was breaking and entering, and then killing an unsuspecting person. Then again… Finn didn’t give a shit. She was gonna do it for the boy, and then she was gonna have to ride all the way back to Windhelm. She crept through the orphanage on her search for the old woman. 

 

But she froze. She felt eyes on her, something wasn’t right. A chill went down her spine, and she glanced about until she spotted the source of the feeling. A small girl, sitting half upright in bed, stared at her in silent terror. Sure, seeing a goat horned humanoid sneaking through would scare the pants off of anyone, it must have been nightmares for a child. Finn put a finger to her lips and sat upright, then waved at the child. Finn had no clue how to deal with children. Would this help? She moved closer to the child. Maybe the kid would help her, she hoped. The little girl shrunk back under her blankets in fright, but seemed to terrified to scream, yet, at least. 

 

“Psst. I’m not here to hurt you. Do you know where Grelod is?” Finn whispered, taking a gamble. The girl froze, and then peeked out from under her blankets with an expression of wonder. 

“You… Are you the Dark Assassin Aventus said he’d hire? You’re here to kill Grelod, right?” The girl spoke in a low tone, but sounded hopeful. Twisted, but that must have meant Grelod was truly a monster. Finn nodded and glanced around. More kids were peeking out from under their covers, staring at her. So half of these kids weren’t even asleep. She hoped they also understood the situation. One scream and her cover would be blown.   
“She’s sleeping in that room. The door is locked. I think she believes we’d kill her if it wasn’t, hehee. I don’t blame her.” Finn nodded and crept to the door, and inspected the lock. Silently, she picked it and the door swung ajar. 

 

The sleeping form of Grelod was a welcoming sight. She closed the door behind her and crept right up to the bed. Her heart was hammering, but she remained steady. From its sheath, she pulled the Dwarven dagger she’d purchased and moved quickly. Clasping a hand over the woman’s mouth suddenly startled Grelod awake. Her wide, terrified eyes stared up into the darkness at Finn’s face, barely masked by shadow. Some rush of adrenaline sparked and exploded inside of Finn, maybe it was the muffled cries against Finn’s firm hand, or the look on the woman’s face, or how her frail body attempted to struggle as the satyr moved to straddle her. Finn exhaled roughly through her mouth and plunged her dagger through Grelod’s throat, piercing the jugular, and all at once, the floodgates opened. 

 

Bright crimson pooled across the hides and pillows like water spilling over flesh toned rocks, and nothing spare for the soft gurgling of Grelod’s throat filling with the coppery liquid was audible. Finn pushed the dagger deeper, looking to pierce the back of her neck. An all the way through, for her own sick satisfaction. An arrow pierced the hide of the coiling Leviathan’s armor, and hell broke loose. Finn’s face twisted into a wild, hungry smile, her teeth flashing excitedly as the glint of life slowly leaked from Grelod’s eyes. This was more than she’d expected. It was way, way more, and she  _ adored _ it. There were emotions, so many emotions all at once, tumbling over each other for a chance to show through. It was like a drug or potion, but much more powerful than any form of Skooma or solution. This awoke the tumult of primal and personal emotions. Finn was elated, she was furious, she was in agony, she was ecstatic! She exhaled  again and laughed softly, careful not to make too much noise. 

 

Finally coming off of her high, she stared down at the mess she’d made in silence. This would be a wonderful scene for someone to find, but not until after she had been far gone from Riften. Yes, she’d be long gone. It was time to leave. Slipping out of the room and stalking across the orphanage floor, there came excited murmurs from the children, who stared at Finn’s blood spattered form in the faint light. Finn stared back at them for a moment, her silver-red eyes glinting in low light, before turning and jumping out of the window, plummeting into the water below. 

 

She’d nearly startled the horses in the stable as her soaked form crept up to her horse. Climbing onto the white mare, she dug her hooves sharply into the horse’s side, and they sped off, the countryside and watchtowers blurring around them, too fast to be recognized. 

 

* * *

  
  


She’d gotten lost again, or so she supposed. She didn’t recognize anything in the darkness and her emotions had flatlined to a low murmur, then to silence. She rode through the darkness, hoping for a hint of familiarity. Unfortunately for her, this was short lived, as soon enough there was a creeping feeling that she was being followed. Grelod couldn’t have been discovered that soon, and they wouldn’t chase her this far, right? And besides that, they couldn’t suspect it was her immediately. Well, maybe they could, but the circumstances seemed unlikely. Finn glanced around and shivered under her soaked armor. She was cold. 

 

Dead undergrowth crackled and suddenly something charged her from two different directions. Two people? Maybe more? She couldn’t tell. Her horse startled and reared back, throwing her off onto the road. The air was knocked from her lungs and she saw stars for a minute. Recovery wasn’t even permitted, because the next thing she knew, there was a sharp blow to her jaw, more stars, and suddenly Finn slipped into darkness. 

 

“That was easier than I thought. She’s the one, right? She looks pretty foreign to me.” 

“Yes, Nazir, she’s the one. I heard her conversation with the Aretino boy. Funny, how she’s a satyr. I‘d heard they’d gone extinct a long, long time ago. Wonder why she’d be in Skyrim?” 

A small child and a redguard stood, peering down at the unconscious woman. The redguard hefted her up upon the back of her horse, then turned to the shadows. A blonde woman slipped out of the shadows on the back of a pitch black mare. It’s eyes glowed red like embers, reminiscent of something Daedric. 

“Excellent, thank you both. You can return home, I’d prefer to address her alone.” 

“Yes, Astrid. We’ll see you later.”

  
The dark horse and rider led the white mare and her unconscious rider off into the night, headed for the marshes of Morthal.


	6. With Friends Like These...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Dark Fuckerhood Sanctuary

Finn’s head ached as she came to. She was still in her damp armor, though less freezing and moreso uncomfortably wet. She’d been attacked on the road, she remembered. Bandits, maybe? Damnit. She was probably robbed of everything she had. She rubbed her head and- Oh? She was in a building. A shack, of some sort. Didn’t look (or smell) like a jail cell, so she struck that out. She sat upright and squinted.

“Sleep well?” Finn’s heart jolted in her chest. She whipped around to face the voice. A woman in red and black leather armor sat on an old, dusty bookshelf. Finn checked herself to find nothing taken from her. This was becoming more and more concerning.

 

“Where am I, And who are you?” Finn demanded, mild annoyance on her face.  
“Does it matter, dear? You’re warm, still damp though… and still very much alive. That’s more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?” Finn’s face went blanker than a slab of refined moonstone. Oh, shit.  
“...You… Know about that… Already... “ Finn mumbled, frozen in place.  
“News travels fast. I’d estimate that half of Skyrim will know by this afternoon today. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get widespread fast. Of course, You’re not a suspect yet, no. Conveniently, there’s a skooma dealer who’s got the lethal force to kill hanging around in Riften. They were looking for the easiest convict. You’re off the hook, for now.” The woman responded, her voice low and smooth. Finn averted her eyes.

“-Oh, but don’t misunderstand. I’m definitely not criticizing. It was quite a good kill, the old crone had it coming. And plus, you saved a group of urchins, to boot.” Finn was confused even more, working the puzzle pieces together. That blow had left her almost too disoriented to think, and her thoughts were clearing at a slow pace. She groaned softly.

“But, you see… there’s a slight… problem.” Finn tilted her head, but remained silent.  
“That little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill… that you stole. A kill you must repay.” And now everything had clicked together. Finn felt her legs go weak. She was speaking to, assumedly, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.

“Ah… You want me to kill… myself?” Finn mumbled, rubbing her jaw. Okay, so not everything clicked. The woman deadpanned and rolled her eyes.  
“...No. If you’ll turn around in a minute, you’ll notice my guests. I’ve ‘’collected’’ them from… well, that’s not really important.The here and now, the heat of this moment. That’s what matters. You see, there’s a contract out on one of them, and that person can’t leave this room alive. But… which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out.”

Finn slowly turned to face 3 people, bound and hooded. Ah, wonderful. It looked like there was a male Khajiit, a female, and a man. Her heart started to race again with a faint spark of excitement. She would get to kill again. This would be exciting.

“Make your choice, make your kill. I just want to observe… and admire.” That was a little creepy, but ok. Finn shrugged her shoulders, flexing them and sat on the edge of the bed. The humanoid male was already running his mouth, begging and pleading for his life. Finn felt a twinge of annoyance, and reached for her bow. She was tired, and didn’t feel quite thrilled enough to stand. This felt like she was dreaming. Maybe she was? There was only one way to find out. Notching an arrow, she set aim for the dead center of the hood that covered the man’s head. She exhaled softly, steadying her hand. Just a slight twitch of her fingers, then she drew back, pulling the bowstring tight. It flexed and waited for her to release. And that she did.

The hunting arrow whistled for mere seconds before finding it’s target, sinking straight through the skull of the man and splattering blood all across the wooden floor and the wall behind him. The man’s body seized up in a jerking motion, then fell over, still and unmoving as blood and viscera leaked and soaked the wooden floorboards. The mysterious woman watched, unmoving. Finn, now excited, contemplated killing the others. The woman wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of capturing each victim and bringing them here to let them go so easily. And if she did, there’d surely be a sudden manhunt for the Brotherhood, and a big bounty for those who found them and killed them. Or was this just her trying to justify her desire to get another taste of emotion? Finn shrugged and let another arrow fly, piercing the humanoid woman straight through the heart. She watched the blood start to stain the woman’s dress. Her eyes lit up with a sudden current of energy, warming her, flooding through her system. She grinned and stood up. Her legs wobbled at first from lying down for so long, but she soon drew her dagger and advanced on the Khajiit. The cat laughed at her, though it couldn’t see.

“I can hear you coming towards me. This one intends to kill Vasha, yes? I would not be surprised. Any enemy of mine who wouldn’t pay to have me killed would be like a personal insult.”  
Finn remained silent. Vasha’s confident facade started to waver.  
“T-Tell you what. You release me, and I promise my associates won’t hunt you down like an animal and butcher you in the street. It’s a win-win.”  
Finn looked back at the woman with an ‘are you serious’ expression. The woman only shrugged. Finn sighed and pressed her dagger against the Khajiit’s throat. The cat shivered and hissed at her. Finn’s lip twitched in amusement. She ran her hands through the Khajiit’s exposed fur, feeling the satisfactory softness that she’d always wanted to feel. With one quick jerk of her dagger, the Khajiit was given a second mouth, slit open across the throat from right to left. Blood sprayed across her face in a bright red stripe, and she jerked back a little. It was warm, and coppery. Slightly disappointing, because she had hoped Khajiit blood was different. Nonetheless, it was blood, and the thrill of taking the cat’s life tingled in her chest. She licked her lips, tasting the blood out of curiosity. Her nose wrinkled and she spat it out. Gross.

She shook her head and stood, trotting back over to the woman after the Khajiit ceased moving. She was satisfied, and hopefully so was the stranger.

"Well, well. Aren't we the over-achiever? Three possibilities, three victims. Must have been one of them, right? So why take chances..." Finn looked bored.  
“You told me to kill. I killed.” She grunted, wiping blood off of her blade with the old hide blankets on the bed.  
“Indeed my friend. You seem to understand what’s truly important. When I give an order to spill blood, you follow it. No questions, no remorse.”  
Remorse was the last thing Finn would feel. However, the woman’s bossiness was annoying. She didn’t even know her name. Finn sighed softly and raised an eyebrow.  
“...So… What now.” The satyr grunted awkwardly. She didn’t want to leave, she wanted answers, but she wasn’t sure how to ask. She needed to finn in long open gaps.  
“Yes, of course, you can go now. You’ve repaid your debt in full. But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level.” Finn felt extremely awkward again. What was she implying…?  
“I would like to officially extend to you and invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood.” Finn felt something drop in her stomach. This was way more than what she’d expected to get out of this. She almost felt overwhelmed. Join the Brotherhood? A chance at learning some of her past, maybe. Murder wasn’t bothering her, it was exhilarating, She had no objections.

“I’ll join your family.” That was an interesting phrase. It held both no meaning and all the meaning imaginable. She was a part of a family, in a sense.  
“Wonderful. My name is Astrid, by the way. What’s yours, initiate?” She hopped off of the shelf.  
“It’s Finn.” The satyr replied.  
“Just Finn? Not short for anything?” Finn shook her head.  
“Interesting. I’d give you directions, but actually, I’d like to ride home with you. I’m quite curious about your… species.” Finn nodded understandingly. As long as Astrid didn’t probe too deep, she’d be fine answering questions.

Exiting the shack, A large, black mare stood next to her small white mare, casually eating marsh grass and grooming each other. Astrid rolled her eyes and moved towards the horses.  
“Shadowmere, dear, stop flirting, we need to go.”  
Shadowmere nickered and flicked her tail, an annoyed response to Astrid. Finn was a little surprised at how the horse seemed to understand Astrid, but then again, glowing demon eyes usually meant there was more than a horse there. Finn clambered onto her mare and flopped against her mane. She felt exhausted suddenly. Having emotions was much more tiring than she remembered.

“You’d better get ready, we have a long ride ahead of us.” Astrid chuckled.

 

* * *

 

 

The ride to the Falkreath Sanctuary was indeed long, and Astrid had prodded Finn with many questions about her origins, sharing some scraps of facts about herself in exchange. Finn answered some but refused to talk about other parts, mostly because she couldn’t remember it. Trauma is one helluva thing, when it locks away your memories and buries things so deep down you have no inkling of a memory.

They stood in front of the sanctuary in the fading sunset. Mist rose and blanketed the ground, surrounding them and making it as if they were wading in knee-deep fog. They had dismounted, and their horses sat by the tiny pool of water next to the door, but the door was something else to behold. Stepping closer to it, Finn felt a cold, but soothing pull again. The wind tugged at the trees and whistled softly into the night, singing nature’s own melody. Stars had begun to just faintly like the sky, like jewels set in the deepest ebony armor.

 

_**“What, is the music of life?”** _

The door spoke, in a raspy, whispering voice that struck Finn with a strong pang of familiarity. Somewhere, a distant memory stirred within. Astrid peeked at Finn. Though she hadn’t jumped, she, for once, showed an expression of mixed curiosity and fear. Astrid found this satisfying. During their trip, Finn hadn’t expressed much emotion. In fact, the only time she did was the strange fluctuation of expressions she exhibited when she killed her victims, especially when she personally dispatched the Khajiit. After that, a stone curtain fell again, and she was all monotone and barely interested, as well as exhausted. The door must have triggered some response, because Finn looked showingly unnerved.  
“I think… that you should answer, this time. It’ll be your first steps into our family. Do you remember the phrase I told you?”  
Finn nodded, her expression melting back into nothingness. She stepped forward and inhaled softly, grounding herself.

“Silence, my brother.” She finally replied.

 

 _ **“Welcome… Home…”**_  
The door swung open with an ancient groan and they stepped inside.

 

* * *

 

 

The Sanctuary was warm and voices from deeper within echoed with lively chatter. There was a warm, red tone that seemed to bathe the sanctuary in it’s shade, giving a warm, but morbid mood. The sound of rushing water echoed off the walls of the cave-like home. Finn was in awe. She’d never seen buildings literally structured out of a cave, and so well done. She gazed admiringly at the large brotherhood banners, bearing the infamous handprint insignia. Once again, there was a spark of distant familiarity. Another feeling like she’d seen the banner before, somewhere long ago. She started down the steps leading deeper but was stopped when Astrid caught her shoulder and placed something in her arms.

“Here, a welcoming gift. This armor should serve you well. I… understand that some of it didn’t fit, obviously the hood and the boots will be… useless to you, but if you’d like me to, I’ll ask my husband to custom make you some fitted bracers for your hooves and a hood that accommodates your impressive horns. Finn nodded.  
“I’d appreciate that. Buying armor in Skyrim has proven… non-accommodating, for my needs. Obviously, that would be expected since most of you consider me extinct…” She trailed off on the word extinct, as if it hit a nerve.  
“It’s no problem, sister. You should go now, introduce yourself to the others and find a bed to claim. I’m arranging your first big job, but for now you should speak to Nazir for smaller contracts.”

Finn nodded and bid her goodbye, heading down into the heart of the sanctuary. The voices grew louder, the sound of a child giggling, followed by many voices laughing. Finn inspected the armor in her arms. Leather, well oiled, and cold to the touch. Something shimmered over it, and Finn instantly recognized it to be an enchantment. The armor and the arm bracers were both enchanted. Either these were old, old garments, or someone here was very adept in the art of enchanting. This stirred some semblance of excitement within her. She’d put these on immediately after introducing herself and see if she could identify any of the effects.

“...Pretty little girl. Would the sweetie like a sweetie? Oh yes, how about some chocolate?”  
“Oh yes, please, kind sir. My mama and papa left me all alone, and I'm so very hungry. I know a shortcut to the candy shop. Through this alley.”  
“Oh ya, very good. Very good. My it is dark down here. Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth... your teeth! No! Aggghh!!”  
That girl’s voice was vaguely familiar.  
More laughter.  
“Oh Babette, but you are so wicked.” Came a woman’s deep voice.  
“What about you, Festus? How did that last contract turn out?” A man’s deep voice. It sounded slightly familiar as well.  
"Oh, yes, please, old man. Regale us with your tales of wizardry..." A rough male’s voice.  
"Ah, the young and stupid. Always mocking the experienced and brilliant. My contract went very well, I'll have you know. Tried a new spell. Little something I've been working on in my spare time. Came "this" close to turning that priest inside out. Damned messy." That voice sounded elderly.  
Several snickers and a loud ‘hmph’ from the speaker.  
"And what of your latest, Arnbjorn. Something about a Khajiit? Merchant was it?"  
"Oh, a big doggy chasing a little kitty! How adorable!" The little girl again. Why was she so damn familiar? The rest of the group broke into laughter again.  
"I am not adorable, it was not funny, and he wasn't a merchant. He was a Khajiit monk, a master of the Whispering Fang style. But now he's dead... and I have a new loincloth."  
“Insensitive…” Grumbled a deep, smooth voice, one that carried a Khajiiti accent.  
“As if you had fur to be offended over.”  
Some laughter, then silence. Someone cleared their throat.

“Are you gonna stand there in the entryway or come introduce yourself?” Finn heard the old man’s voice call to her. She huffed and walked closer to the group. Now that she could see them, it was quite an interesting family. A Dark Elf woman in robes, an elderly man in similar robes, a tall, barefoot man with long, stark white hair and a large axe strapped to his back. The white haired man looked permanently grumpy. Then she noticed an Argonian, tall, green scales with a scar that ran down his face. Finn had only seen an Argonian in person once before, a deep blue-black one with a white throat that stopped her from crossing the dangerous border. Argonians looked draconic to her, she liked it. There was a tall Redguard man next, dark skinned and dressed in traditional Redguard clothing. Something about him seemed friendly, in a sense, but in a standoffish facade sort of way. Then there was the child. Finn recognized her, she was the little girl from the street in Windhelm. Windhelm. She had meant to go visit the boy, when they’d intercepted and taken her far off course. Shit. And she guessed that the girl had been listening to her conversation with Aventus, and eventually probably the reason why the Dark Brotherhood had found her. Funny.

Next, there was a tall, thin Khajiit. Suthay-raht, if her faint knowledge on Khajiit served her correctly. What took her by surprise was that he was completely hairless. She focused on him for a minute. Deep black skin with a lighter throat, a gaunt, angular face and a single, bright blue eye. The other eye was scarred over and shut permanently from claw marks. His armor was obviously custom crafted, or at least given custom features, because the armor was lined with fluffy fur, and there was a thick wool neck covering, obviously intended to keep him warm in Skyrim’s cold climates.

Sitting by a pool of running water in the same room was an Altmer. Finn’s blood immediately went to ice. She had no grudge against Altmer, but something about an Altmer Brotherhood member upset her, as if an old memory had been struck. The High Elf was silently cleaning a collection of bones, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The elderly man kept glancing between her and the elf with a slightly concerned expression. She realized that she’d been awkwardly silent and blinked.

“...My name is Finn. I’m the new initiate.” She dipped her head respectfully and straightened up.  
“Veezara.” The Argonian offered first.  
“Moon-Eye…” The Khajiit sighed.  
“Babette! But you might remember me, the little girl?” The child giggled.  
“Gabriella.” That was the Dark Elf.  
“Festus Krex, and the Altmer over there is Vonell.” The elderly man spoke up.  
“I’m Nazir. I apologize for the blow to the head.” The Redguard muttered, averting his eyes. Finn pursed her lips.  
“...Arnbjorn. Stay out of my way and you’ll be fine, new blood.” The white haired man growled. Festus rolled his eyes.

“Welcome to the family sister. We’re interested to see if you have what it takes to really be called an assassin.” The elderly man spoke once more. Nazir cleared his throat, getting Finn’s attention.  
“I suppose Astrid has asked you to start taking contracts. I’ll be dealing them to you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll tell you about them and show you where you’ll be sleeping. I have 3 contracts lined up. You may consider it a lot for a rookie, but it’ll prove that you’re not just going to wind up dead. Impress us by surviving more than a night with our company and then people will start warming up to you.”

Finn nodded and followed him, carrying her armor with her. She did need a place to change. They ascended into a small area for Enchanting and Alchemy. Finn’s heart fluttered for a minute. She did enjoy picking apart enchanted items to learn their effects. She was never really good with Enchanting itself, and she was only knowledgeable with a few poisons in Alchemy, (most of which were repressed memories along with the others.) but nonetheless it excited her. Nazir caught her staring at the Enchanting table.  
“Festus would probably like you if you’re into Enchanting. Might even teach you a thing or two he developed himself. Just don’t go picking apart your armor. That would be considered rude.” He commented, then continued walking.

Finn followed him down into the kitchen area, warm and comfortable. Nazir didn’t stop, but spoke as they passed through and ascended the rickety wooden slope into the bedrooms.

“Don’t worry about food, I’m the cook around here. You won’t be eating sludge, either. I know how to use spices. Every dinner is a good one.”

Finn felt some relief. At least she wouldn’t be eating the equivalent to prison food. The Brotherhood had some standards. They continued on into the bedrooms. It looked like a bunkhouse, there weren’t individual rooms like she’d half-hoped. But a bed was a bed, and it was safe and dry. That was enough for her. Nazir pointed at a few beds with a grunt.

“Any of those are free for picking. Basically any beds that don’t have stuff on them or look like they’ve been used recently. I’ll let you get changed, and then you can come meet me downstairs for your contracts.”

Finn realized suddenly with a rising feeling of panic, that there was barely enough privacy to change. Meaning she’d have to do this quickly as she could. She set her clothing on a bed wedged into a semi-hidden corner, hoping it would be enough. Quickly, she scrambled to change out of her Scaled armor. Her clothing was still damp from the swim in Riften, even her smalls, so she snuck quietly to the men’s beds and peeked around. Nobody would notice a missing pair of braies, she was sure. A few minutes of silent snooping proved successful, as she found a pair of soft black braies. Snatching them up, she made her way back to her bed and changed into them. She wasn’t sure what to do about the upper half, she had left her extra clothing in her horse’s saddle bags, which was outside, which wouldn’t be worth walking out half naked to go get, and the feeling of wet clothes bothered her too much to change back into them. She groaned quietly and peeked in a drawer in what was, presumably, the women’s half of the bedroom. Luckily, she found something suitable enough. Also black. Damn, these guys really liked the color black.

 

* * *

 

 

The armor was far from loose fitting. She didn’t enjoy this, but she’d get used to it. She hoped. The leather was well oiled and soft, so that was a perk. Rough textures didn’t do well with her. And it did fit her form well and made her look feminine, which only helped her in the long run. She’d get used to it, indeed. The good outweighed the slight discomfort. Now to find Nazir. She stashed her old armor under her bed. It would probably rot from water damage, as it was unenchanted and didn’t seem like it would last very long. The set was cheap, so it’s durability would be cheap. But her new armor would work wonderfully, and if the grumpy guy, Arnbjorn, would agree to take the challenge, she’d have hoof bracers and a nice hood to go with it. She was considerably well off.

Finding Nazir was easy, he was in the kitchen, already preparing a meal, which made sense, seeing that it was now night. Finn at at the table, waiting for him to turn around. He didn’t, but spoke anyways.

“I hope that armor will benefit you. I heard rumor that Arnbjorn will have to make you some custom pieces. Until then, I’d advise you wait before going to do contracts. A hood to hide your face is very beneficial. However, Astrid wants me to assign you contracts already, so that I will do.” He paused, taste testing whatever he was cooking. He hummed thoughtfully and added a few spices.

“You are to kill Narfi, a crazed beggar in Ivarstead. Then you will kill Ennodius Papius, a paranoid ex-mill worker in Windhelm. I’ve gathered that he is just outside of Windhelm, uphill from a place called Anga’s Mill. Finally you will kill a woman named Beitild. She is a miner in Dawnstar. She may prove more difficult, seeing that the mines are guarded, and busy throughout the day. Likely you won’t be able to find a time where she’s alone. I’m sure you’ll find a way though, your reputation and pay hinges on it.” Finn’s lips twitched in vague annoyance, but she said nothing to the last few details.

“Thank you, brother.”  
“It’s your job, I’m just giving them to you. No need to thank me.” Nazir replied, but the show of gratefulness did please him. At least she was respectful, and not loudmouthed, boastful, and annoying. She took her orders. That was a good quality in an assassin. He had hope for her yet.

“Now, come here, rookie, and help me set the table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three chapters are gonna be half-interludes! They'll just be brief, and highlight each kill Finn makes. After the three, the real next part of the storyline will pick back up when Cicero finally brings his smelly ass to the Sanctuary.


	7. Contract: Kill Narfi

She’d spoken to the locals, and gotten the information needed. Leaving the tavern and paying for the small wedge of cheese she’d eaten, she made her way across the river carefully. One false step on a slimy rock and she could slip. Best case scenario, she gets wet and maybe bruises her ass, worse case scenario being her drawing attention from her target, or worse, cracking her head (or horns) on the river rocks beneath her. Her cloven hooves helped grip the rocks far better than a horse would have ever fared, which was in her favor. Bitterly, she recalled Arnbjorn jokingly offering to make her iron shoes when he had presented her with her custom armor. She’d denied, saying that the sound of iron shoes might draw attention to her enough. 

Back to the target at hand, she’d asked if she could help him, under the guise of giving him some money. Several guards had advised against it, telling her that the man was too far gone mentally to do anything good with the money. Finn ignored the rude remarks. Disabled villagers back home would have never been treated this way, isolated to survive in rags. But that was in the past, and regardless, she had to kill this man. There was no time for any semblance of pity, if she could even find any within her tough hide that sheltered the furious crybaby beast within. Still, maybe in another life, he’d be better off. She didn’t quite believe in The Void, where supposedly all souls killed by the Dark Brotherhood, and Brotherhood members themselves went. Raised in her village, she briefly recollected memory of the teaching of reincarnation, as another creature, another being, unpredictable and beautiful. She didn’t doubt that Sithis themselves existed, but their ways were not her set of mind, not yet, at least. 

Upon reaching the shack, she gingerly shook her legs off, sending droplets of water that clung to her fur into the sandy gravel of the riverbank. The beggar was visible, pacing back and forth in front of her. He kept glancing at her as she approached, a wild expression in his eyes, like a deer cornered by a ferocious Sabre Cat. She remained silent, rounding the corner of the damaged, worn down house to greet him. Narfi hummed anxiously and finally got the nerve to speak up. Her silence was unsettling him. 

"Do... do you want something? Look, if you ain't gonna talk, or spare no coin, just go away..."

Finn shook her head and reached for her coin purse. Narfi mistook it for her reaching for her weapon, and jumped back, fearful, and reached for his dagger. Finn shook her head again. She didn’t realize he had a weapon on him. She unhooked and lifted up her coin purse, which stopped him dead in his tracks. 

“Oh… Oh! You offer coin for Narfi? Praise the gods!” 

In his haste, he dropped the dagger and started towards her. She met him at the front of his house, obscured enough that nobody would notice what was about to take place. She pulled a handful of coin out of the bag and placed it in his hands. He hastily shoveled it into his coin purse and then hugged her, babbling excitedly. Finn flinched slightly from the contact. She didn’t really like it when people touched her, and hugging was even more uncomfortable. She slipped her dagger from its sheath slowly, and flipped it over in her hand, readying to stab him in the back. Like the quickness of a viper, her dagger buried itself in Narfi’s skin, sinking deeper and puncturing his kidney. Narfi inhaled sharply and doubled over, opening his mouth to scream, but Finn was quicker. She clasped a hand over his mouth, muffling him with her gloves. Seizing his position as an opportunity, she slit his throat open and shoved him off of her quickly, to avoid too much blood splatter. Narfi promptly fainted from fright and his injuries. His body jerked several times, and then went still, lying dead as blood pooled out of his wounds. Finn stared blankly at the body. That was strange. She hadn’t felt anything from that. No wild surge of emotions, nothing. This was stupid, and she felt redundant, standing in the middle of a worn down shack. She stared at Narfi’s body and gave it a nudge to see if he was really dead. He was. Awkwardly glancing around, she picked up the coin purse and dumped all of the money back into her purse, then looked back down at Narfi and sighed. Lifting his body and dragging it, she moved him onto his bed, then covered him with the scrappy, rotted blankets. She wiped his dropped dagger across his throat, then left it on his chest, wiping her own dagger off on his ragged clothing. Finn stared at him for a moment, then sighed. 

On the back of her white mare, Finn had left Ivarstead in silence. Narfi’s body laid in his bed, with only the sound of birds, the mill, and rushing water to embrace him. Two shining septims covered his blank eyes.


	8. Contract: Kill Ennodius Papius

_4E 201. Mother and Keeper must go. I am not the Listener, and never will be. But I am the Keeper. I must serve my Mother's will above my own. I must find her Listener. I must teach Astrid the error of her ways, the beauty and necessity of the Old Ways. I have sent the letter to Astrid. We leave soon. But Cicero will keep this Sanctuary as his Sanctuary! A place to rest and ply my trade, for I once more take up the blade, and send some lucky souls to Him, when laughter strikes, as fits my whim!_

Windhelm was cold, as usual, but at least she didn't have to enter the city this time. Riding past the city and down towards the bridge, she stared out at the almost frozen over water. As she neared the bridge, she stared up at the waterfall behind the bridge. Next to the bridge, dead in front of her before crossing the stone pathway, was a slope that lead up to the opposite side of the river, across from where her contract would be sitting. She preferred to not even speak to her contract this time, but shooting him from across the river and leaving his body to be found quickly might not work in her favor. She sighed and wrapped the soft red shawl around her. It was warm, and it hid her armor enough to make her unrecognizable to her contracts, in case one was aware of her profession. She’d gotten the shawl from Gabriella and Babette, who’d given it to her before she left as their own form of a ‘welcoming gift’. She appreciated it, because she’d given the old wool shawl back to Keerava in Riften ages ago.

She pulled off her muffler, but kept her hood up. She needed her face to be somewhat visible so that she’d be able to fool Ennodius into a false sense of security… somehow. Finn crossed the bridge and rode through the mill, waving at some of the workers who had waved hello to her. She had to be as unsuspicious as she could manage. She kept riding, up the hill, trying to formulate a plan. He was paranoid, right? She could take advantage of that. She could play into being someone who knows about the Brotherhood’s plans, maybe a kindly escort who wants to hide him. If he was so paranoid, maybe he’d be grateful. Then again, maybe he’d question her motives. She frowned and rode up to the riverbank. The man was there alright, huddled by the water, shivering. She waved at him and forced a smile, trying to lower his guard.

“Ho there! You, are you Ennodius?” She called out, trying to be as friendly as possible.

“N-No! Maybe! Who wants to know!?” He snapped at her. His paranoia sure made him indecisive. And bad at lying. She slid off of her horse and patted the mare’s flank gently.

“I do, a friend. I’ve come to help you, you’re in danger.” Ennodius looked startled.

“It’s the Dark brotherhood, isn’t it?! I knew it! Who are you, who sent you?!” Finn raised her hands in defense, trying to calm him.

“Nobody sent me, I can assure you. I overheard from someone that an assassin is on their way to find you right now. I rode here as quickly as I could from Windhelm to warn you. I was staying there to trade in my furs. I’m a hunter, you see. Do you have anywhere to hide?” She asked, spinning the web of lies deeper. Ennodius shook his head.

“N-No, I was fired from my job a the mill when I heard someone was out for my life. They didn’t like how ‘unpredictable and paranoid’ I was getting. Anga said I could stay up here as long as I didn’t bother anyone. To be honest, I’m freezing!” He exhaled nervously.

“Look, there isn’t much I can do, but if you’d like, I can give you a ride back to my camp. Maybe, if we go now, the assassin won’t be able to track us. I know how to cover my tracks, obviously. You can hide there for now. Of course, that’s completely up to you to decide.” The man seemed inclined to agree, but froze.

“How do I know if you’re not helping the Brotherhood- how do I know if you’re not an assassin!?” He cried, backing up quickly. Finn sighed and remained calm.

“If I was an assassin, I wouldn’t have rode through the mill and let everyone see me. They would assume it was me immediately. Obviously Anga still somewhat cares about you, if she’s letting you stay up here, right? So they’d come looking for me immediately.”

This stupid lie seemed to be enough to trick Ennodius. This man was quite stupid, really. She had enough of tricking people, having conversations and interacting with strangers was quite draining. He sighed and gave in, walking close to her again.

“Okay, I guess you’re right… I’ll come with you.” He placed a hand on her horse’s flank nervously.

Finn helped him up onto the back of her horse, and he sat against her uncomfortably. This was going to be weird as all hell. She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute, trying to keep herself from sighing loudly. Then she opened her eyes, and started off. They crossed the river instead of heading back down the pathway, and continued up through the snow, into the forest. They rode for a time in silence, crossing pathways sometimes.

 

 

 

“...Are we close now?” Ennodius asked quietly, as they reached a remotely quiet part of the forest, where the snow was deep.

“...Yeah… My tent should be here somewhere, but it looks like the snow might have hidden it. C’mon, help me find it. You can stay here while I go back to cover my tracks when we find my tent.” She slid off her horse and into knee-deep snow, and started to pretend to dig around. Ennodius, with no other choice, slid off and mimicked her, looking with real intent. He was so caught up in his searching that he failed to notice her sneaking up on him. It was over before Ennodius even realized it. The glittering Dwarven dagger cut through flesh like a hot knife through butter. There was a wet ripping sound, and then blood spraying and staining the snow deep crimson. She didn’t muffle him, hoping he’d scream out, for she knew nobody would hear. She’d pulled her signature move, a clean smile across the throat, severing the Carotid and Jugular veins. Unfortunately for her, there were no screams, for her dagger had severed his trachea. Ennodius fell forward into the snow, falling unconscious, his body automatically trying to force him to take breaths as he lay dying in the snow. There were no screams, just the disgusting gurgle as blood continued to pump into his throat, and finding no securing force to contain it, more and more blood spurted out, filling his throat and causing more sputtering and gurgling.

Finn felt that familiar surge. The hide was pierced, and the beast clawed its way out. Freedom! This time, she’d paid attention to every sound, every detail, unlike she had with Narfi. It was wonderful, disgusting, and it made her feel so alive. She was joyous! She was excited! She was in such, sweet, exquisite agony! Tears dripped down her face, and no one spare for a madman could understand the depths of her emotions in that raw moment, as the icy winds threatened to freeze her salty tears to her face. She cried out, laughing and howling as tears continued to drip, making the most confusing din a living creature would ever hear. She was wild, she was living, she felt emotions! She was alive again! Fynneth was free!

...For about 10 minutes. As she danced around the body joyously, her energy wore out, and laughing and gasping for breath, she finally realized Ennodius was dead. Oh, bother. That was surely short lived. She glanced back at her horse, who stared at her with dark, tired eyes, as if to say, “Well, there you go, you freak. Can we go now?”. Finn snorted and kicked snow into the air, then turned to Ennodius. She dug around in his pockets just out of curiosity. Just a few Septims and some moldy bread. She gladly took the Septims, counting up to 615, if she remembered correctly. 30 Septims off of her target. No too bad, and she had a huge payment at home waiting for her when she finished off Beitild, if the contract went off without a hitch, and she didn’t wind up with 30 Dawnstar Brand arrows up her asshole.

She rolled Ennodius over, and buried him in the snow, making sure his body wouldn’t be found by humans until after the animals had their way with him. She scuffed snow over the bloody slush with a grunt, and then climbed back onto her horse and pulled her muffler back over her nose and mouth. Soon enough, she was on her way to her next contract. By the time she had reached Dawnstar, she was exhausted, emotionless, and ready to sleep. She’d buy a room for the night before she went for her last contract.


	9. Contract: Kill Beitild

Room paid for last night. First time she’d slept in several days, but she supposed she could be worse off. At some point she was going to need to take a nice, long bath. If that was even possible in Skyrim. Maybe she’d get hypothermia. How many Septims is she at now? 602, she was sure. She couldn’t wait to fill her purse with coin, until it was brimming over. She’d need a bigger coin purse, maybe a satchel. Maybe she’d buy a better horse? No… no, she’d grown too attached to the mare she had, and on top of that the mare was perfectly fine, spare for being cold. Maybe she’d go look into purchasing a Caparison for her horse. Did those exist in Skyrim? She knew Cyrodiil had them, but she didn’t think she would have needed it. (Nor could she afford one at that time). Maybe they carried them in black. Everything nowadays for her was in black, but logically the black would trap heat in, making it a warm option for her poor horse.

Oh, right. She had a contract to fulfill.

Finn had no intention to trick Beitild into finding a reclusive place to talk, she was tired of interacting with others. She’d explore, get some rumors, maybe go and figure out who might want her dead. That’s how she’d waste her day. This would be another night mission. No problem for her, of course.

So that was it. Beitild was divorced, and treated her employees like shit, and on top of that, her ex husband runs a competing mine on the opposite side of town. There were plenty of reasons people wanted her dead. What a load of drama. Finn sat at the docks, drinking a tankard of coffee in silence as darkness fell. Soon, the guards would begin to light lanterns around the town, so she’d have to move now if she wanted to avoid being detected. Setting her coffee down, she made her way around the water, keeping low and making an attempt to blend into the shadows. Beitild’s house was on the far end, second to last. She crept quietly to the house, while the guards were busy lighting the lanterns where she had sat on the opposite side of town. Good timing. Creeping up onto the porch and pressing against the door, she paused, listening for footsteps or noise within. There wasn’t any, lucky for her. This woman goes to sleep early, thank fuck. Finn wasted no time picking the lock and slipping inside. This sure did require more effort than the previous two contracts. Her heartbeat started to race as her thoughts wandered back to her first kill for a brief minute.

Stay focused, don’t botch this.

Finn moved silently over to the bed, where Beitild’s sleeping form was lying. She drew her dagger and prepared to launch into her usual routine, when Beitild’s eyes flew open. Finn’s heart plummeted into her guts. Oh, shit. Like a coiled spring, her legs instinctively pushed off the floorboards and she flung herself on top of the miner as quickly as possible, trying to hold her down. There would be no time for enjoying this one, she realized bitterly. Without thinking, she grabbed the woman by her hair and punched her in the throat, knocking the air out of her and preventing her from screaming until she could recover from the shock. That gave Finn enough time to move quickly. Should she go with the usual, or try something new? The usual, the usual was quickest.

Like routine, she slid her blade across the woman’s throat, ripping open a bright red smile. She had made sure to cut as deeply as she could. Blood splattered across her face. Finn jerked back from hot contact and wiped blood off of her lips. Right, so that might be an inconvenience. She grabbed a hide from Beitild’s bed and wiped her face off before the blood dried. Beitild was twitching and finally looking like she was dead, or close. Finn stuck her tongue out and made a childish ‘neh’ sound. Nonetheless, she was giddy from the kill, bouncing on her thighs excitedly as blood dyed the bed a nice shade of red. _Rich people should really consider this shade of red in their furnishings and fashion, it would fit their attitudes and ethics..._ She commented internally, snorting softly at her own dumb joke.

Finally, after a little bit of silence, she stood up, brushed herself off and checked for signs of obvious blood splatter on her, and finding none, she was satisfied. Beitild had only dirtied her face, thankfully. She didn’t consider how her hair looked, in her haste. She made her way back over to the entrance and peered out through the barely ajar door. No guards visible, but the lanterns were lit. Wait, there was a guard. And another. They were uphill, lighting lanterns by the Jarl’s place. She slipped out silently and made her way back around the water, to the dock. There was her coffee, still sitting there. She grinned in delight, still running off of a mild emotional spike, and lifted the tankard to her lips.

She supposed it was high time she’d go see her horse and make her journey back to Falkreath’s Sanctuary. She earned her rest, and her gold. She had a long journey ahead, it would be best to head off now. No use sticking around in Dawnstar now, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All three Interludes are up now yahoo  
> Next chapter is the return of Smelly Man


	10. Mother and Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, Mental Stability machine broke

Finn was back in darkness. Back to the sanctuary, back to the comfort of the low murmur within the sanctuary. There wasn’t even time to speak to Nazir, she went straight for bed and slept until late morning.

 

 

She was exhausted. She was gonna sleep in, whether the others liked it or not. Or at least, she was trying to, when the sound of something heavy scraped across stone snapped her awake. She growled, rolled over, and dozed off again.

And then came the sound of an argument, agitated voices and someone’s shrill voice that drilled into her skull.

_"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?"_

_"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets "punished.""_

_"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."_

_"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady's favor..."_

Fuck the Five Tenets, she was gonna kill everyone who was making such a racket and then GO BACK TO SLEEP. She flung herself out of bed, disoriented, and tried to stand. Her hooves went out from under her and she face planted on the stone with a surprised yelp. Everything coming from the main room went silent. At least she was more awake, now, albeit embarrassed, but she was still annoyed, peeved, dare she say, almost angry (gasp!). And she was gonna get her GODS DAMNED REVENGE EFFECTIVE NOW. That was the plan, of course. She stumbled out through the hallway and down the stone stairs, grumbling angrily and rubbing her sore face, wiping sleep out of her eyes and patting her horns, making sure they weren’t broken.

 

 

“Which one of y’all is making all of the…” She stopped short at the scene before her.

A large crate, everyone gathered around it, oh, Arnbjorn looked more grouchy than usual, Astrid had that signature hands-on-hips displeased posture and- _You’ve got to be joking._ The Jester, from the road, like, a week ago? Maybe less? She wasn’t sure but he was here and she was annoyed and ready to kill everyone, what was that guy’s name? Sweetroll? Smither- no, Cicero, that was it.

“Th… Ooookay what is going on, what did I miss.” She crossed her arms, now feeling a little left out of… whatever was happening. Astrid shot her a tired expression, as if to say, _‘Don’t add to this, please’._ Cicero immediately focused on her, squinting very, very hard. Finn felt vulnerable, suddenly, but Cicero’s attention snapped back to Astrid, resuming their argument. He gave her superior an accusing expression that made Finn’s skin crawl. She didn’t like that look, She wouldn’t want him looking at _her_ like that.

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... husband?" Astrid relented, giving her husband an unreadable expression. Cicero smirked briefly. He was certainly behaving differently than from the road. Arnbjorn grunted angrily and turned to leave.

"Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cicero cheered, but Astrid cut him short. Finn knew that there would be an addition to her too-merciful agreement.

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?" Astrid’s voice was sharp, abrupt, and firm. Finn winced.

Cicero seemed taken aback, almost an expression of rage in his eyes. Finn paid attention to how his fingers twitched, how they longed to ball into a fist, maybe he wished to strike Astrid? She wasn’t sure why, but there was some sort of unspoken disrespect between the two, something Finn couldn’t quite grasp. Something had been violated. But Cicero grit his teeth and grinned, once more remaining cheerful.

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! _You're the boss."_ He crooned. Astrid flashed him a forced smile and turned to leave. The tension in the sanctuary was so strong, even as everyone dispersed. Finn decided against speaking to Astrid immediately. She swallowed and started to back up, awkwardly. Maybe...She’d just… Go back to bed… Cicero gasped behind her.

 

 

"Wait! Oh, wait! I know you! Yes, yes. From the road! Cicero never forgets a face! Finny!! I had not expected such a lovely creature to be an _assassin!_ But then again… You do seem fit for the blade..." Finn squeezed her eyes shut, steeled herself, and turned to face him, offering a half-forced grin, like a sheepish child caught in an act.

“Yeahhhhh… I was the lady who helped you… with the wheel… and… your… our mother? “ She trailed awkwardly. Cicero’s eyes glimmered with amusement. What a weird woman.

“Yes, yes, of course! Our Mother! The Night Mother! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius,.. got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And our mother, she will never forget...” The way he punctuated his words sent a chill down her spine. Unnerving little man, but yet the strangeness was once again, almost welcoming, his laughter, infectious. Something about his cheerfulness was almost warm, inviting, familiar, despite it implying sinister undertones at points. Finn ran a hand through her hair and gave a tired sigh. Cicero noted this, watching her rub her eyes again. She was tired, the poor thing. More than likely, Astrid had been working her to the bone, he assumed. Of course, he was already prepared to assume the worst for Astrid, so maybe this was inaccurate… No, of course not. Astrid was wrong, doing wrong, Cicero was right.

 

_Cicero was always right._

 

“Well… It’s nice to uh… See you again, I hope that wagon wheel didn’t give you any more trouble.” She spit out her words awkwardly, suddenly realizing that Astrid was glaring at her. The blonde turned away and disappeared up the stairs, back to her desk, most likely. Finn cringed and slowly looked back at Cicero. The Jester had been glaring at her as she left, but flashed a sympathetic expression when Finn returned her attention to him. Yes, pay attention to Cicero, not that _pretender..._ His expression snapped back to it’s weird cheerfulness.

"Oh, Finny! You are so polite! So nice! Cicero likes you. The Night Mother is sure to like you too. Oh, we're going to be fast friends... _Fast friends..."_ He clapped excitedly, the sound of his gloves making contact with each other loud in the now-noticeable silence of the sanctuary.

Friends, Finn didn’t hear that word tossed around so loosely anymore, especially not in Skyrim. Was she sure she liked that? He could have just called her Sister, like the rest. Then again, Cicero was a little… off kilter. Even so, he should know, being in the Brotherhood, that friends would be weaknesses, right? Finn would debate whether she was okay with a ‘friend’ or not, but for now she had questions.

“I know there’s other sanctuaries, and you obviously aren’t from ours… Given that warm welcome.” She punctuated her question with sarcasm. Cicero gave a haughty bark of laughter.

“Warm welcome indeed! But yes… Yes… The Night Mother's crypt in Bravil was... desecrated. The Imperial Province is ravaged by strife... Nowhere there is safe, at present... So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here! This is the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, you see. Such was my... honor. As Keeper." Keeper, hat was an unfamiliar word. Finn blinked with an expression of unregistering confusion. Cicero snickered.

“Surely you know the duties and title of Keeper, do you not? Cicero takes care of our Lady's body. _Oils it,_ preserves it, keeps it safe.... Makes sure nobody disrespects our Matron's _coffin."_ Finn’s expression was blank. She did _NOT_ like how he said that.

“So… I know… Very little about our mother, would you mind telling me more?” She tried to word her question safely to avoid possibly upsetting Cicero or anyone listening. Cicero lit up bright and cheerful.

“Oh, you jest! You jest with foolish, gullible Cicero… You of course know that the Night Mother is our Unholy Matron. The undying spirit of a great woman who birthed the children of Sithis. And killed them. In his honor." He giggled maniacally at something only he found funny. Finn liked the sound of killing, and their mother sounded pretty cool. Cicero sighed comedically peered at the crate, which contained the infamous coffin within. There was something in his expression, pride? Longing? Something bittersweet that Finn couldn’t understand. She _wouldn’t_ understand, either. She reflected Cicero’s words… Sithis… Sithis sounded familiar, too familiar, as if she could hear her father’s distant voice.

 

 

“Sithis…” Finn mumbled out loud, unaware of her own spoken words until Cicero’s gaze snapped back to meet hers.

“Yes, Sithis, you’re familiar? He is… the cold of space, or terror-” Finn joined him, repeating a line she didn’t realize she had known, something instinctive and buried deep within.

“-Of midnight. Sithis is all those things. He... is the Void." She finished with him, in unison but different tonally. Cicero looked slightly unnerved.

“Why, yes… like that. _Odd._ Finn, have you been in a brotherhood in…Where did you say you grew up… ahem... Valenwood?” Finn’s expression quickly flipped to panicked. Shit, she had told him about that. She’d forgotten that she’d even said that to him, in a moment of vulnerability, Everyone’s eyes were on her, or at least trying to pretend they weren’t. Finn swallowed roughly. Cicero noticed the panic in her expression and felt a weird twist of emotions. Had he struck too deep? Asked a question she didn’t feel comfortable with answering? Maybe it was a secret, maybe only Cicero was allowed to know. That made him feel a strange, tingly twist of pride. There was also some mirth, some joy to see that he was capable of getting Finn to express emotions other than curiosity and annoyance. She looked scared, cornered. An expression he hadn’t been able to taste in a _long, long time._ Finn grit her teeth and set her jaw. Odd, Cicero noted, how she looked when she made that expression. He enjoyed it, just a little.

On one hand, maybe if Finn decided to relent and offer some information, she’d get some history on her background. Maybe some sort of trade? But on the other hand… No, not here. Not in the company of others. She locked eyes with Cicero, taking him by surprise.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of my years before Skyrim at all.” She finally offered, carrying no expression. However there was more to her sentence, something unheard by others. She maintained her locked gaze with him, despite how uncomfortable she was becoming at the prolonged eye contact. She mouthed words at him, a secret message? Cicero was good at reading lips, of course, a lot of assassins should be.

 

_‘Meet me alone.’_

 

Cicero felt a bolt of excitement that almost made him jump for joy. More secrets! Cicero was very good with secrets. The only thing he’d share his secrets with were his diaries, his poor, old diaries, that nobody was allowed to even peek at. Yes, surely his diaries would keep more than his own secrets, soon enough. When would he meet with Finn? Oh, what time? He opened his mouth to speak but caught a pleading expression from her. She held up her hands, open palmed, and Cicero took a moment, trying to figure out what she was doing.

Oh. Ten fingers. Ten at night, in darkness. That’s what she meant. Of course! Ten, that would be a good time. That would be perfect. Cicero nodded, his soft auburn hair bobbing with his hat. He flashed a silly grin, which seemed to relieve Finn. She flashed a weary half-smile in return and turned to leave.

“I think Astrid needs to speak to me, I will see you later. Farewell.” She added, trying to play off the suspicion. Cicero clapped and waved goodbye.

“Oh yes! You have things to do, assassin! Kill well! And often!” He called after her, as the customary good-bye went with assassins.

Finn headed off in the direction that Astrid had went. It was true, Astrid said she needed to speak to her next time she was awake enough to listen to the woman. And she also needed to collect her pay from Nazir. She had almost forgotten about that. Firstly, though, Astrid was priority.

 

* * *

 

 

The blonde met her, arms crossed and looking pretty ill tempered. Finn swallowed roughly and faced her superior with a blank expression. Astrid stared her down in silence before speaking.

“You _know_ that muttering fool?” Came the accusatory question. Finn stood still.

“I met him once before.” To this, Astrid scoffed.

“It looks to me like you two get on like old friends.” She hissed.

“I met him _**once.**_ On a **_road_**. His wagon was broken, I convinced someone to _**fix it.”**_ Finn punctuated each sentence sharply. She stamped a hoof in annoyance.

“I didn’t even know who he was or where he was going. He begged me to help him and offered to pay. I like money, so I accepted.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes, but released the topic like a reluctant dog releasing it’s prey for it’s master to take.

“Anyways. I’m glad you’re finally alive enough to listen to me. I have a contract for you. You first real one. Word got out about your skills rather fast in rumor between hushed talk. Someone has requested you in person. Her name is Muiri, in Markarth. I can mark the location on your map, if you haven’t been there yet. She’s the Apothecary’s assistant, in a shop called The Hag’s Cure. She’s been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. Apparently she’s performed the black sacrament.” Finn processed her words, rolling them over in her mind and trying to memorize what’s important.

“Yyyyyes… Anything else I need to know…?” She asked.

“Just… Do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, get the job done. Understood?” Finn nodded.

“Good. Since this is your first contract, I’ll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She’ll be generous, I’m sure of it. They always are. Now go, see if you can get any leftover breakfast and hit the road. I want the contract done with as soon as possible. Good timing and fast results make happy contacts.” Finn felt the weight in her legs get heavier. She was too tired.

“...Would you mind if I departed late tonight? I prefer to leave in darkness.” She fibbed, trying to buy time to talk to Cicero. Astrid narrowed her eyes.

_“...Fine._ Just… Don’t disappoint us.” Thanks Astrid, really encouraging. Finn nodded and briskly departed for the kitchen. First Nazir, then food, then waste time getting prepared. She assumed it was probably around 1 in the afternoon by now.

 

She felt Cicero’s eyes on her as she passed. Veezara and Moon-Eye glanced at her from where they were sitting, helping each other clean and sharpen their blades. The High Elf was nowhere to be seen. Finn continued into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

Nazir stood over the table, reviewing contract papers, writing down information and signing the completed contracts in red ink. Glancing up, he slid three papers to the side and placed a well of red ink over them. Her contracts, she was sure.

“All three are dead.” Finn scuffed the stones with a hoof.  
Nazir nodded in approval.

“I heard about Beitild, and Narfi. You know, they’re saying Narfi killed himself, right? Was that the intention?” Nazir raised an eyebrow.

“Not quite but uh, _that works,_ all the same.” Finn felt a slight twinge in her stomach, to which she promptly told to _fuck off._

“I see… Anyways though, I didn’t hear about Ennodius, but seeing that there’s literally blood in your hair, I’ll take your word for it.” He signed her name on each paper, then slid them into a journal.

“Congratulations, you’re officially in our logbook, sister. You’ve done an excellent job so far.” Finn dipped her head respectfully.

“Thank you, brother.”

Nazir paused, opened his mouth, then closed it. After a minute, he spoke again.

“You’re welcome, sister.”

“Also, your payment for this contract. I’m giving you 500 septims for each, so here’s a payment of 1,500. That should work with you, right?” The redguard pushed the full purse to her. Finn nodded gratefully and grabbed it.

“And you missed breakfast, but there’s some food still left over if you’d like anyth-”

“-Do you have any cheese? I’ve really been craving cheese for some reason.” Finn interjected.

Nazir paused with a bewildered expression.

“I… Yes? Do you uh… What type of cheese are you wanting?” He asked, caution in his words.

What kind of question was…? Finn froze, and then deadpanned. Right. Of course. Her shoulders sagged.

“Just give me the stuff that **_isn’t_** goat cheese, thanks.” She grumbled.

 

* * *

 

 

Finn ate from the comfort of her bed this time, in awkward silence. When she finished, she went over the basics, asking Arnbjorn to sharpen her blade, examining her bow, making sure none of the arrows were broken or coming apart. The leather on the bow’s grip was starting to wear, but that was a problem she’d deal with later. She was kinda wanting a new bow anyways. She counted out her Septims, trying to figure out her new hoard total. 602 current, plus the new pay. So… She did the math in her head… 2,102 Septims. Wow, that was a lot. And not enough to fit in her purse anymore. She’d need a new pouch. This was an inconvenience, why hadn’t the Empire come up with something easier for money, like some sort of cloth? Or paper. Or both! A document! Or something. Still, money was money, and she had enough to buy TWO WHOLE ENTIRE SKYRIM HORSES. And that was considerably a lot, to her, not as much as how it was in Cyrodiil, but hell, it was good. This was fine.

With nothing else to do… She’d take a nap, yeah. That would work. She asked Babette to wake her up a little before ten, then retired to her bed again, and slept the rest of the day away.


	11. Mourning Never Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Sorry for the wait, summer got busy as hell for me. To make up for it, this chapter is a little longer than usual. Thank you, everyone, for the kudos! It's really encouraged me to continue this.

Night rolled around quickly, approaching ten. Finn shook off her weariness and went to collect any items she needed. Her dagger, sharpened from Arnbjorn, some advice from Festus, some road-safe snacks from Nazir, who insisted that she should take it, to ‘avoid paying for some overpriced swill in Markarth’. He said it as if he’d known firsthand, so she accepted. It was mostly jerky, some bread, the last slice of garlic bread, some cheese (to which Finn glared at him briefly, but he only smiled innocently at her in response.), and a flask of water. She also paid a visit to Babette, who greeted her warmly and slipped a few vials of poison into her hands.   


“In case you get into a tricky situation, or run into those Forsworn, y’know?” She had said, winking at the satyr with that silly fanged grin. Finn nodded as if she understood what the hell a Forsworn was.

 

Soon enough she was packing her horse’s saddlebags. Allocating space for food, a blanket, sliding the poisons into a pocket, some extra supplies, oh, yeah, maybe her shaving razor. She slid that one in quickly. She stood, pondering what else she needed, was she forgetting anything?   


“Have you named her? Oooh! Ooh! Can Cicero name her?!” A voice shrilled behind her. Finn nearly had a heart attack, whirling around to face the speaker.

 

Of course, it was Cicero, already petting her mare’s nose and offering it carrots. His face was barely illuminated by moonlight, making his cheerful expression almost sinister in the darkness. Finn exhaled softly.

“Cicero named his mare Cinnamon. She’s a good horse, I’ve hidden her away from the sanctuary though… Don’t want _Astrid_ trying to get rid of her…” He grumbled, clenching his fist. Finn leaned against her mare’s side.

“You don’t like Astrid much, do you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Cicero ran his gloved hand down her mare’s neck slowly, avoiding Finn’s eyes.

“She asserts herself as the leader- claims that she’s the boss… It’s not fair! It’s not _right!_ There is no leader of the Brotherhood except for our Mother! Mother and the Listener, of course… And then comes the hand, who enact the will of the speaker, and so forth, as the rest of the Brotherhood fills in lesser contracts… B-But the point! The point is that Astrid is none of these, and therefore shouldn’t have any say in what her brothers and sisters can and cannot do- That is for The Tenets and Mother to dictate! Them! Only!” Cicero nearly shrieked, if it wasn’t for Finn quickly placing a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of silence. Cicero jumped slightly, but nodded and quieted down.

 

“That… That is not what Cicero came here to talk about though. You- Finny, you had something to tell me, a share of secret, exchange of tongues, information?” Finn nodded slowly, tracing her fingers over her mare’s flank.

“Yes, and you have to keep this a secret, or I will _gut you like a Slaughterfish._ I’m only telling you because you seem to have the most information about the Brotherhood’s locations- I’m hoping you can fill me in, if possible.” Cicero nodded enthusiastically. It was true, he did know much about the Brotherhood locations in Cyrodiil, and the other provinces! He had studied them often! Maybe he could ease Finny’s worries. Finn was silent for a long time, trying to dig up as much as she could remember from her childhood.

“I grew up in a hidden village in Valenwood- I’m not disclosing where, you probably couldn’t find it even with directions anyways. But you asked a question about a Brotherhood there- No, I was not in one myself. But I grew up being directly affected by it- I think… My village made a deal with the brotherhood- They’d protect us from unwanted intruders and high elves looking to colonize our forest and try to force us under their ruling- and in exchange we help them hunt and gather, and show them how to navigate the forest. This was our agreement. And some of our village joined them, eventually- I believe my father was one of them, or at least worked as a guard for them, scaring off predators and the likes.” Cicero was silent, thinking. This sounded familiar, too familiar. He’d heard of this hidden location, someone had mentioned it? Or something. He frowned.

“The Brotherhood was attacked, I suspect it was from within- my father died in the chaos. Burned to the ground, and his body was dismembered and used as a warning. Mom was inconsolable- that’s besides the point. After that, the Thalmor found us, and I think it was a result of the incident- a very delayed result, after years of silence and grief. But I’m not interested in speaking about any of that. I want to know what happened- how they found my village. Was my father in the Brotherhood or just a guard. I need to know.”

 

Cicero took the information in silently, but Finn had a pleading expression in her eyes, hoping he could confirm anything she’d said. He nodded slowly, and Finn’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“Cicero has heard of the sanctuary in Valenwood- and it’s fate. They suspected that those horrid Thalmor had something to do with it- infiltration, yyyyes? Cicero thinks that was it. There was a high elf who had joined them- they suspect it was him. They suspect he’s also behind the… riots and desecration- he’s the wretched dog who’s been uncovering us! Cicero wouldn’t put it past those horrid high elves, Thalmor and the bunch.”

Finn’s blood ran cold. She remembered a high elf, that golden skin was burned into her brain, the way his dark, brown-black eyes stared at her like the eyes of the mask he wore. Him, it had to have been him. She’d seen him when he visited their village before the Brotherhood burned, and the saw him once more when her village- When she fled from home. Finn buried her face in her horse’s flank with a shuddering exhale. She would not show emotion, that would be her downfall. Hide it all, curtain it. The beast that hid under the leather hide over her emotions squirmed, itching to tear free. Cicero stared inquisitively, but made no comment. Finn finally stood straight, and nodded at him.

 

“Thank you, I needed to know. Even if it isn’t much to work with, it’s a toss of dirt into the hole to refill.” She kept her hands on her mare’s saddle.

“Of course, Finny, you’re a part of our family. Cicero is here to assist when he can.”

The jester bowed playfully, crossing his legs dramatically in a sweeping gesture, as if he was addressing royalty. He placed his hands on her horse once more.

 

“About my er- The question Cicero asked initially. If you haven’t named her- the mare, This poor fool could suggest a name?” He tilted his head and smiled sweetly, batting his eyelashes comically in mock-innocence.

“Go on then, tell me.” Finn mused, trying to stifle a tiny smile.

“...Snowy! Like the snow of Skyrim, she’s as white as it! Fitting, yes?” Cicero laughed.

Finn paused, staring at him in the dim light, how the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he laughed, the way his eyebrows knit together, and felt some form of peace. His humor and laughter was genuine, at least to her it was. It was infectious, though she hated the most to admit it. She turned and tried to hide her face, but Cicero very well saw the grin and the tiny shudder of her shoulders with a silent laugh. It took him by surprise, making him fall silent with a weird feeling in his gut. Ambition, that was the feeling. He wanted to make her actually laugh, out loud, without hiding her face. Finn recovered and turned back to him with a mellow expression, not quite blank, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering.

 

“Do come back soon, Finny, it’s terribly hostile here without someone to talk to, you know. Festus is nice but Cicero knows he tolerates me. And that little un-child is kindly, but Cicero is lead to believe that she’s wanting to sweet-talk Cicero into giving her a taste of his sweet blood...” He clapped his gloved hands to his cheeks with a sullen expression.

“Imagine, using a poor fool for his most vital blood, such a shame…” Cicero tsked. Finn huffed, trying to mask another grin, and patted her horse.

“You could tag along with me, y’know, if you don’t get in my way or botch the contract.” The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it. Cicero’s eyes lit up like they were full of all the stars in the night sky, but then he deflated a little with a saddened expression.

“Cicero would never ‘botch your contract’, dear Finny, he’s been doing this longer than you- Cicero really appreciates the offer, but he cannot… He must tend to mother until a Listener is chosen. Such is my duty… as Keeper.” He sighed, stroking the mare. The horse, who was enjoying all of the stroking, snorted softly and nibbled at Cicero’s fingers, as if to say ‘got any more carrots?’. Cicero beamed and rubbed her nose.

 

“You should go, before Astrid catches you still here and chews your pointy ears off. You wouldn't want that, now. Go on! Cicero will be waiting for you to return and tell him _alllll_ about your first real contract. Kill well! Make us proud!” He cheered, pumping his fists like an enthusiastic fan. Finn mounted her horse, sliding into the saddle comfortably. She turned to leave, starting up the hill, but paused, slowing the mare.

 

“Oh, Cicero! About that name you suggested...”

Cicero nodded, awaiting what she had to say.

“I like it, I think I'll use it. See ya around, yeah?”

Cicero beamed and waved her goodbye with admiration in his eyes. He was right, he knew they'd be fast friends!

 

He stood, waving until the white horse was out of view and the hoof steps faded into the night, then plucked some nightshade next to the pool of water beside the sanctuary. He'd best make an excuse so Astrid didn't suspect a thing. He slid back into the sanctuary, retreating to his room quickly when he realized that Astrid wasn't around. Probably sleeping, while she ran the rest of her poor siblings into the ground with work. Cicero slipped something out from under his bed. A journal, his most recent. He thumbed it open to the next blank page and moved to his table, uncorking the well of ink and grabbing a quill.

Cicero had a lot to write about.

 

 

* * *

  


 

Finn was well into the night on the road when she made it to The Reach. The trees and mountains reached into the skies, and water rushed far below the road she travelled on. It was quiet, spare for distant calls of owls and the background hum of crickets. A fox screamed somewhere in the distance, nearly drowned out by the roar of running water. Finn kept her eyes sharp on the road and at her surroundings. She still had no idea what Forsworn were, too embarrassed to ask anyone before she'd left. She just hoped they wouldn't bother her.

 

The ride to Markarth was uneventful, but tense. Finn felt as if she was being watched the entire way, right up to the bridge that marked the first step into Markarth’s bounds. A guard nodded at her in acknowledgement as she passed, but gave her no trouble. Up the hill to the stable, She dismounted next to it, stroking her horse and removing one of the saddlebags. She'd made them herself, crafting them to be able to double as a knapsack she could remove and carry with her if she needed. It contained a good portion of her gold, as well as her food and drink, and poisons within a pocket, alongside her shaving knife. She left the bag that contained her blanket and emergency camping supplies attached to the saddle. It was time to enter Markarth.

 

The city was empty, very quiet. A few guards patrolled or stood by the tiny marketplace, watching in silence as she stepped into the streets. She approached the nearest guard, who stared at her with quiet astonishment as her hooves clicked softly against stone.

 

“I'm looking for The Hag’s Cure. Do you know the way?” She asked softly.

“I- Why- yes, turn left down that way, turn right at the first bridge. Then turn left before going up the stairs by the water wheel, cross the bridge, and take the stairs to the right, then to the left. It’s a bit hidden and a little easy to miss, but you should be fine. They’re closed right now though, so I doubt you’re going to have any luck-” Finn cut him off quickly.

“Muiri is a friend of mine, I’m visiting from out of the province. She said she’d let me in if I arrived by night time. I’m all good, thank you.” And promptly left, repeating his directions in her head.

 

It only took a bit of wandering to find the shop she was looking for. By now it was some time early in the morning, where the soft torchlight of the city still lit the streets and the stars glittered overhead, but the faintest smell of dawn and early dew was fading in. Finn felt exhausted, her eyes heavy and her throat and stomach felt thick, like it was full of bile that she couldn’t quite throw up. This was the effect of sleep lack, she guessed. Knocking on the thick metal dwemer doors of the shop, the satyr stifled a yawn, tears welling up in her eyes as she did so. She quickly wiped her face off, and straightened up, waiting for an answer. It wasn’t long before Muiri herself opened the door, dressed in a nightgown and squinting annoyedly at Finn.

 

“You called? Black Sacrament? I’m your girl.” Finn whispered, leaning closer to the door with a sleepy expression. Muiri’s face lit up and seemed to lose it’s gaunt appearance. She quickly ushered Finn into the shop and closed the door behind the satyr.

“When I had said I was hoping you’d show up I didn’t actually think you would- Gosh, a real satyr, and she’s in my _house!_ I can’t believe this, I just can’t, the Black Sacrament actually worked?” Muiri babbled excitedly.

Finn sat quietly, waiting for her to finish talking. She just wanted to discuss the contract, not focus on herself. Muiri quieted down eventually.

“Obviously it worked, I’m here now. Let’s talk business. What exactly do you need our services for?” Finn drawled, leaning against a stone column. Muiri’s expression became sharp and full of pain and rage. For a moment, Finn thought it was directed at her.

“What I need is for Alain Dufont to die. I want him hunted down and butchered like the dog he is.” She snapped, clenching her fists. Finn remained silent, and Muiri took it as a key to spill the rest of her story.

“I didn’t know it when we were… with each other… but Alain is actually the leader of a band of cutthroats- bandits. From what I’ve gathered, they’re holed up in some dwarven ruin- Raldbthar, I believe-” Finn raised an eyebrow.

“...You… _believe?_ ” She mumbled. Muiri faltered.

“Y-Yes, It’s near Windhelm- they use it as their base, they stage their raids there. I promise you this isn’t a wild goose chase. Look- I want you to go to that ruin, find Alain Dufont, and slit him ear to ear. I don’t give a skeever’s rear about his friends, do what you want to them. Alain has to die!”

Finn nodded slowly.

“That can be done.” Muiri seemed to lighten up more with relief.

“Oh, excellent, I knew I could count on you. Once Alain is dead I’ll be more than happy to pay you. In gold. I’ve saved up what feels like a reasonable sum for you- If all that sounds good there’s also… one more thing, if you’re interested?” She stammered, trying to fit all of her words into one breath.

“...Go on.” Finn crossed her arms.

“If you can… I want you to kill someone else, as well. You don’t have to, I’m not holding you to it as it isn’t why I had summoned you- more of an additional spur of the moment thought. But, if you do… I will pay you even more.”

Finn raised an eyebrow again.

“Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If you can take her out too… I can guarantee I’ll make it worth your efforts.”

“I’ll see what I can do, then. I doubt it’ll be too hard to complete your little bonus.”

 

In reality, though she didn’t disclose it, Finn was starting to fall heavily into her work, how much she enjoyed the rush of emotions she felt every time she took a life, the feeling of letting her emotions out in refined violence, tailored to her own style. And furthermore, there was validation, from every time someone would thank her or praise her for her work, every coin that fell into her open palm after her work was done. She was powerful now, merciless, something she had always desired to feel. She was in control now.

Muiri seemed pleased enough, bidding her farewell as she exited the shop and slipped quietly into the Inn that sat on the main street of Markarth. She paid careful mind to the guards, making sure they didn’t notice her slipping into the establishment.

 

“I’m only lookin’ for a room for a few hours of sleep. I gotta hit the road when day breaks. How much you chargin’.” She announced, placing a hand on the bar counter. An old, silver haired, balding Nord was cleaning a mug, but paused when she spoke.

“Ten septims if you’re only stayin for that long. It’s nearly 4 in the morning now, you know.”

Finn nodded and pulled 10 coins from her purse, passing them over the counter. The inkeeper idly waved his hand in the direction of her room.

“First one on yer right. Don’t get it dirty, my darling wife hates actually doing her job.”

“What was that, you pig-headed oaf?” A woman who was sitting by the fireplace turned her eyes to him with a snarl.

“Nothing, sweetness, just being useful for our customers, unlike you.”

 

Finn slipped away quickly to her room, leaving the couple to bicker. As soon as she slipped into bed, the felt sleep take her, her exhaustion getting the better of her. She hadn’t even bothered to slip out of her armor, falling asleep in it instead. She’d been going non stop for the past week, ever since she’d joined the Brotherhood. Now was a time to attempt to get a wink of rest before having to get up once more and travel onward.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  


“Hey, wake up. Miss?”

Finn’s eyes snapped open to a young man who was shaking her awake. She hissed immediately, sitting up as quickly as she could. The man backed up, startled.

“I...I overheard that you were planning on waking up at dawn and It’s been an hour since then so I just thought I’d-”

Finn look startled. She scrambled up, gathering her bags and darting out of the doorway, down into the main hall of the Inn, and then kicking the door open with a hoof and darting out into the streets of Markarth. She had to go, immediately. She raced out of the city gates, down the stone stairs, nearly slipping and landing on her ass. It took her only a few minutes to re-attach the saddle bag, then swing herself up onto Snowy’s back and dig her hooves in, speeding out of Markarth Stables and onwards to her target. Passing back through The Reach, she was moving too quickly to see the countryside, scenery blurring around her as she pushed her horse onwards.

 

It wasn’t until Whiterun was in view that she slowed her horse to check her map. Snowy, grateful for a break after such a long period of galloping over stone, snorted, panting and frothing slightly at the mouth from exertion. Finn drew her map from her saddlebag and examined it. The road she was on took several branches- leading back up to Riverwood, which she hadn’t chanced to visit yet. The road that continued on straight ahead would take her through a winding riverside path, eventually taking her to Windhelm, in event that she chose the right turn. Finn decided to stick to her more familliar outlet, opting for the road she’d travelled before- before realizing that Raldbthar was well off road- in the snow. She groaned out loud and stared at the map. She’d have to leave her horse somewhere that wasn’t keeping it waiting in deep snow- Anga’s Mill being an option of familiarity, and her previous contract had gone well enough that she shouldn’t be recognized as a suspicious character- the paranoid fool who she had murdered was too out of his mind to be marked as a murder suspect- if his body was discovered, it would hopefully been chewed to scraps by wild wolves enough to rule out a killing. Finn would keep her horse at Anga’s.  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The ride to the mill was deathly silent. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, followed by several others in response. Finn shivered. She’d never heard wolves in Valenwood, at least not near her home. The first time she’d heard them in Cyrodiil she had nearly fallen off her horse with fright. Now they were a little less jarring to hear, though amplified by the snow-covered land around her. It sounded lonely and forlorn, only the frost and gusts of wind to keep them company among the savage wilderness. Snowy, unprompted, picked up the pace, following the stone road instinctively. Finn’s eyes wandered, watching the trees around her, noting how they seemed to reach skyward, branching out over the snow and encompassing the sky. It was almost comforting, though also foreboding. She was lonely, she realized. She legitimately missed the tame but welcoming feeling of the sanctuary, and the low hum of voices talking, Arnbjorn hammering away at his forge, the clash of weapons on training dummies as Moon-Eye and Veezara sparred and sharpened their skills, trading pointers and advice. She almost missed Astrid’s annoyingly stern presence, watching over her siblings and handing out assignments alongside Nazir. She sighed, returning her focus to the road.

 

“I’m hiking up that ridge to meet someone at a ruin up there. Could you keep my horse here until I return? She’s a Cyrodiil steed, I don’t want to risk having her freeze in deep snow waiting for me.”

She’d asked upon arriving, smiling hopefully at a Nord woman. The Nord had contemplated it silently, gazing at the horse.

“...I can pay you 20 septims if you just make sure she’s alright until I return. You don’t need to feed her.”

Finn added hastily. The Nord’s eyes lit up and she nodded. Typical.

“I can do that. You going to take care of the bandits up there, I take it? You’re a Mercenary?”

Finn faltered for a minute, but then nodded.

“Yeah, my partner went ahead to survey the area since he knew I wouldn’t arrive until later. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.” She fibbed, trying to sell her lie. She fished out 20 septims and handed them over, much to the Nord’s delight.

“I’ll be back in a bit. Unless I die. Probably not, I know what I’m doing.”

She joked awkwardly, shrugging and turning to leave. The Nord woman instructed one of her employees to move the horse closer to one of the houses, but Finn was already on her way up the hill and onward, preparing for her hike with nothing spare for her dagger, her bow, and a couple of healing solutions.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was cold. Cold as all Oblivion iced over. Cold as The Void? Most likely. Dear fucking Sithis, it was so godsdamn cold. She trudged onwards, up the hill, trying to locate the ruins. Squinting every time a gust of wind picked up, gritting her teeth in annoyance. All annoyances beside, she was making fairly good progress, only cursing a little bit when her hoof would strike a hidden stone under the snow.

 

Raldbthar was huge. A lot bigger than she’d been expecting. She moved closer, but froze instantly when she recognized movement near the entrance. Three bandits were patrolling the platform, loudly complaining of the cold. One was most definitely a Khajiit. She cursed under her breath and sank down into the snow, attempting to hide herself mostly from view. This was a job for her bow, she figured. She tried to stifle her shivers, making a little movement as possible in the white blanket of snow. Drawing her bow, she settled her sights on the bandits, assessing them. Only one of the three seemed to have a bow, oddly enough. Why wouldn’t you have all of your archers out where they could strike down intruders from a distance? That wasn’t her problem. She notched an arrow and waited for a clear sight of the bow-clad bandit, waiting tensely for a good shot at his head.

 

Draw back. Pause. Wait, just a little longer and… Bullseye. The arrow sailed through the air and met its mark, piercing the humanoid bandit’s temple and threading straight into the skull. He collapsed in a heap, alerting the other two, who were now alive with fury and surprise. Both had their weapons drawn, searching for a target. Finn buried herself in the snow, waiting for the two to descend the stone stairs down to her ground level. The moment the first boot touched snow she sat up enough to aim, dispatching the bandit through the throat with a well placed arrow. Before the Khajiit could turn and react she’d already shot him as well, through the chest, causing him to crumple but not die. She moved quickly to his body, drew her dagger, and slit his throat for good measure. His life was ended quickly, luckily, and was not a slow bleedout, though it made his fur sticky. She rubbed her index finger and thumb against the Khajiit’s ear, feeling the soft fur, but pulled back in disgust when she was met with a grimy texture. This one didn’t wash, though that would be fairly common with bandits. She wiped her hand off on his fur armor and stood up to survey for any more bandits.

 

The snow was now dyed bright crimson. This was a setback, in case someone else stumbled upon it, but it was easier to dispatch them than having to sneak in and back out undetected. Finn entered Raldbthar.

 

She’d never really seen something quite as interesting as the inside of a dwarven ruin. The outside was grand, but the inside felt both overwhelming and underwhelming simultaneously. It was warm, oddly so, in fact, how seemingly insulated the place was. It was lined with gold hued metal structure beams, and large pipes that lined the walls, passing over where crumbled stone covered the floor. If it wasn’t for the distinct echo of voices and the clatter and hiss of still-running machinery, this place could very well be mistaken for long-abandoned. Finn kept to the shadows, sliding along the walls. A bandit lay sleeping on a bedroll a few feet in front of her, and past that down the hall was something shimmering, bright and intense. Finn set upon the slumbering bandit with a burst of speed and quickly slit his throat open, spilling blood onto the bedroll. Throat slitting was becoming her signature move, she realized, but she cared little.  

 

Pressing onward, the shimmering wall she had glimpsed was now right in front of her face- which explained now why the ruin was so toasty. It was less of a wall, and moreso long jets of fire magic blasting from several holes in the wall. Presumably dwemer-made, and reactivated by the bandits who took residence here now. For a fleeting moment, she had the strongest urge to plug her finger into one of the holes, just to see what would happen, but resisted it. She knew damn well that would only result in roasted goat for her. She turned, steeling herself and looking for an alternative route instead. That of which was clearly presented in another route around. The long route opened into what looked like some kind of wide hall or workroom, littered with scrap metal. When her hoof brushed something that chimed softly upon impact she realized it wasn’t just scrap metal, but the remains of some dwemer construct. A metal face stared up at her, cast in a permanent, fierce looking expression of determination. She shivered, feeling the slightest twinge of an unnerved feeling. It was like a mass grave for something that had never been truly alive. Still, she set her face in a blank frown, pressing onward but remaining in the shadows. The voices were growing louder now, she realized. She must be getting closer.

 

And closer she was, met with the decision to either pick the lock of a dwemer gate and search for a way to sneak around, or take the open corridor and confront Alain directly. Finn weighed her options in silence, chewing her lip absentmindedly.  From the sound of it, there was several bandits hanging out with Alain, probably guarding him. More numbers would make her job trickier to confront, and she wasn’t very skilled in close-up combat- and under equipped for it, seeing that all she had was a dagger for stealth and a bow for distance- swords and shields were just never her thing.

 

Lockpicking was still an annoyance however, but she managed to only break one of her picks before successfully getting the gate open- which she begged Sithis that it didn’t creak. Dwemer maintenance must have been good on the doors, to her luck, for it hardly made a sound. Not that it’d be too audible anyways over the roar of the fire magic wall and the ugly laughter of Alain and his lackeys. She slipped through and advanced, up the staircase and onward to the upper level, only to discover- to her delight- that it exactly overlooked the area that her target was currently sitting in. Furthermore, blessed she may be- there were the largest crossbows she’d ever seen, burnished gold metal glinting in the low light of the ruins, as if they were begging to be used again. So she guessed that Dwemer really did have all the cool stuff, but what was of more concern was figuring out how they worked without drawing attention to herself- using a bow was one thing, crossbows were somewhat different.

 

Maybe it was luck, or surefire disaster, but randomly touching things always seemed to work when it came to foreign machinery. What could possibly go wrong, was the question that fleetingly passed through her mind, seconds before setting off the giant metal crossbow, watching with a sick twist of fascination as it fired directly into the small gang of bandits. No big deal, if the giant metal harpoons didn’t kill them the collateral damage would, she suspected. What she hadn’t counted on was the fact that everyone EXCEPT for Alain had died, and now he had his eyes directly on her, seething with fury. Which she guessed was a fair tradeoff for her luck, now she had to get the job done herself- not that she was complaini- oh, where did he go. She’d taken her eyes off of him for the moment to draw her dagger and now he was rounding the corner, charging up the staircase with his weapon drawn- a warhammer. A goddamned, bigass, very enchanted warhammer.

 

So, maybe it was time to figure out a plan before her head became a crushed mass of viscera. So Finn did the only thing she knew how to do in a tight situation- get out of the way. She launched herself, off of the overpass and down amid the dead bodies, hoof stomping in the head of one of the dead bandits on accident. Jumping from heights wasn’t a problem to her like most humanoids, for her legs were better built for taking the shock of impact. This would slow Alain, who now had to turn and bolt back down the stairs, weapon drawn. Finn chewed her lip, trying to formulate a plan as quickly as she could manage. She didn’t know any magic- none of her village did spare for the healer and his apprentice- nobody needed magic. All she had was her weapons and herself, and the healing solution bottles tied to her belt. She grit her teeth. Hide, yes, that’s what she could do. Scrambling over a pile of crumbled stone, she hid behind it, out of sight from Alain.

 

When he rounded the corner, she was nowhere in sight. He paused. Had she fled? He hadn’t gotten a very good glimpse of her spare for her large monster horns and the big hooves on her feet. Was she a daedra? Had he angered some daedric prince? A slight twinge of worry pierced his gut as he scanned the room, warhammer in hand. Maybe she was in the hall, hiding in the shadows. He turned to exit, and Finn took the chance. No time to draw her bow, she leaped over the rubble and charged him head-on, horns first. The clatter of her hooves on the stone floor alerted him to her stealth attack, and he spun, swinging the warhammer at her with all of his strength. She skidded sideways, managing to narrowly avoid the hammer, but it still caught her by the hip, smashing the health solutions she had been carrying and sending her stumbling. The force of momentum in the hammer staggered Alain, causing him to lose his grip and send the hammer flying out of his grip and skidding across the floor. Ever since he had stolen it from the Shatter-Shield family he had never really knew how to effectively use it, swinging it wildly and hoping that it would do the job for him, staggering or smashing whatever he was attempting to hit- and usually he was lucky, considering he’d only ever used it on citizens and harmless travelers who weren’t trained in combat- This was not one, now he saw clearly. This was presumably a skilled assassin, or at least one that knew what she was doing. Finn spun on her hooves and charged him, assuming he was now disarmed. Alain drew his dagger and slashed, grazing her armor and skidding upwards, slicing her jaw. She hissed in pain, reeling backwards, and ducked, aiming a headbutt at his gut with brute force. The hit was solid and sent him onto his ass. She straightened up immediately and placed a well aimed kick to his chest, shattering a rib in the process.

 

She forced him onto his back, weighing him down with a hoof on his chest. He wheezed terribly, winded by her blows. Bandit he was, but still clumsy and inexperienced in fighting. She recognized instantly that he relied on intimidation and trickery over brute force. Finn spat off to the side, panting as she stared him down.

 

“Get it over with, then, assassin.” Alain growled, in a last-ditch attempt to psych her out or call her bluff. Finn only narrowed her eyes, a grin sneaking over her face, baring her teeth like some ferocious animal.

“Oh, gladly. This was fun, by the way. I haven’t had any of my contracts put up that much of a fight, so thanks.”

She punctuated her sentence by pulling back her hoof, only to strike him with blinding force in the throat, pressing downward with all of the force her leg could muster. Alain flailed under her, struggling to breathe as his trachea was crushed, effectively suffocating him. Finn held her hoof until all the life had fled from his eyes, leaving her in the low thrum of background noise that echoed through the ruin. The deed was done. She exhaled loudly and turned to exit, wiping blood off of her chin.

 

It was time to kill Nilsine.

 


	12. Shattered Shields

Finn retrieved horse with little questioning. The workers were either too busy or had forgotten that she’d mentioned she had been ‘working with someone’. She slipped away to Windhelm with relative ease, though Snowy had been hesitant to cross over the bridge that allowed pathway over the frigid river. The waterfall sprayed her with freezing mist, making her shiver as she urged the white mare onwards. The slowed only once to investigate the dead, broken body of a wolf by the trail, only to hurry onward when an orc hunter came up from the bank of the river with a suspicious glare at them both, as if they had intended to take her wolf before she could skin it. Windhelm was in view, anyways, and this would be a chance to make sure the Aretino boy was okay, if he hadn’t gone back to the orphanage at this point. She couldn’t help but think about him worriedly, though she quickly shoved it from her mind and buried it with a pound of distracting herself with the landscape.

 

By now, it was late afternoon, not that Finn was to complain. The timing was actually working for her, or at least she was working mentally to adapt to it. She could strike during the night, given that getting into the house would be easy, if Nilsine proved to have a set schedule and wouldn’t be out and about. Whatever would happen, she’d be prepared for it. She had to be.

 

Finn had to remove her mask and store it in the saddlebags, and then wrap herself in a deep red shawl both for the purpose of keeping warm, and to mask her armor. Though nobody would recognize Brotherhood armor- The Brotherhood was still rumored to be dead in mainstream conversation, as she’d learned, and nobody had seen an assassin in the flesh and known for sure it was them, at least not enough to memorize the carefully crafted black and red armor- though the sinister color scheme surely did seem intimidating to anyone who dared a glimpse of her. She was still cautious, she had to be. She’d make no more mistakes, at least not major ones, she recalled some distant memory bitterly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After leaving Snowy in the stables, she made her way into Windhelm, slipping quietly through the streets. Though she knew that she’d be better off scouting out her target’s house, but something drew her away to a house she’d been to before. She slid her hand over the doorknob, testing to see if it was locked. It wasn’t, this time, and dread seeped into her gut for the briefest minute as she slipped inside.

 

To her relief, she could hear a child’s voice from upstairs, talking to himself? Or playing make-believe with something. A thud, a clatter, and exhausted laughter. Finn slipped upstairs, subconsciously making an effort to be louder on her hooves to alert him. The attempt worked, anyways, because the voice went quiet.

 

Finn rose to the top of the staircase and rounded a corner- only to narrowly avoid a flying rock. She scrambled sideways with a startled bleat.

 

“Watch the rocks, kid!” She exclaimed, as Aventus lowered his arms, trying to hide the crude slingshot he was just brandishing.

“You came back! I thought you weren’t gonna come back, you took so long- But I heard the news! Grelod is dead! You killed the bitch-” Aventus cut himself off with a sheepish grin.  

“Language.” Finn grunted, crossing her arms. Aventus nodded distractedly and then gasped and reached under his bed. He produced a glimmering, silver plate, dusty but in pristine condition. He pushed it into her hands, but looked reluctant.

“Miss, I know it isn’t much but I really, really want you to have this! I… don’t really know what you could use it for but I’m sure it’d fetch you a very nice price if you sold it- It’s an heirloom. It’s silver, entirely. I heard that you have to pay assassins so… I don’t have much gold, but this will work, right?” His voice wavered with uncertainty, and Finn’s heart felt like it was going to split in two. Gods be damned, why did she have to have a soft spot for children? Her shoulders sank.

 

“Keep it, please, it sounds important to you. Wouldn’t you rather keep what’s left of your family?” She insisted, pushing the plate back into his grip. Aventus looked confused and relieved simultaneously.

“This must seem very unprofessional and un-assassin like to you- But I… I understand how it feels to have nothing left of your family to keep. You should hold on to what little you have to remind yourself of them. I’ll be fine, I have plenty more contracts ahead of me to handle, I’ll make plenty of gold in time. You might never get this back if you just hand it off to someone.” She urged, pulling her hands away from the plate.

Aventus nodded solemnly, holding the plate close to his chest.

“You’re so nice, and you actually listen to me, and you at least act like you care. I thought all assassins were scary and cold, and dangerous.” He breathed, rubbing his thumbs over the plate.

“We’re still dangerous, and you _should_ fear us. My compassion to children does not extend to adults.” She replied sternly, as if she were a teacher lecturing a student. Aventus averted his eyes and nodded.

 

A moment of quiet passed.

 

“...Could… Could _I_ join the Dark Brotherhood?” Aventus piped up again, a hopeful light glimmering in his eyes. Finn deadpanned, her expression going to one of alert, but void of emotion.

“You aren’t even old enough to be turned loose from the orphanage, what makes you so sure that a Brotherhood would wish to take a child under their wing-” She cut herself off, thinking of Babette, but then reminded herself that Babette was not a child, but a very old vampire.

“It’s not a matter of _not wanting_ you- so don’t give me those sad eyes- it’s more like… the ethics of taking in a child and sending them to their death because they’re far too young to be murdering grown adults in cold blood. You wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against a bandit or a seasoned soldier.” Finn finished, her tone final and matter-of-factly. Aventus seemed to deflate at those words.

“I guess you’re right… But if I ever get to met you again- maybe when I’m older- could you maybe… recommend me?” He persisted, smiling widely at her. Finn sighed, but couldn’t help smiling in return.

“Sure, kid. I’ll recommend you when you’re _older,_ so don’t go looking to get into trouble to get our attention, okay? We’ll find you. Don’t look for us.” She straightened her posture, and peered around.

 

“For now… I’d suggest you head back to the orphanage. Grelod is gone, and I’d assume it’s under new management. You’d be safer there. Before you argue- You can’t become an assassin if you aren’t alive or healthy enough for us to consider recruiting. So consider that. The choice is yours, consider it a test from me. I’ll even give you the money to ride the carriage to Riften if you agree.” Finn pushed, patting the pouch of coins tied to her armor. Aventus pursed his lips and stared at his feet, contemplating the offer.

 

Finally, reluctantly, he looked up at her, nodding in agreement. Finn immediately moved to fish money out of her pouch- quickly passing her fingers over the coins as she counted her money- and then passed two palmfuls of gold into his hands- 40 septims. Far more than he needed, at least for the carriage, but it would be enough to buy himself food or something of the sorts. He stared at the money in shocked silence. Finn turned to slip out of the house.

 

“See you later, kiddo. Don’t get into too much trouble, ok?” She called back to him, stepping out into the biting dusk air. She was never good at ending conversations, but she felt some weird sense of righteousness in her actions.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

So she’d hit the tavern now and get something to stuff her face with before she went to kill this poor sod. Which is where she was sitting now, mulling over her contract and her interaction with Aventus. Had she done the right thing? There couldn’t be any harm in it, was compassion or being to friendly to strangers frowned upon? Was the Night Mother disappointed in her? Aventus was only a child, certainly there’d been nothing wrong in what she’d done… She hoped. Not like she’d mention it to anyone within the Brotherhood, and she’d hoped that Aventus would be smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Still… She sighed, staring at the mug of coffee she’d ordered.

 

Some point or another in her attempt to work out a plan for Nilsine, her thoughts were wandering back again to the Brotherhood, her newfound family… to Cicero, in honesty. She stared into the deep brown of her drink, mulling over his words. He truly seemed friendly, though she knew this was probably also from the fact that he was madder than Sheogorath- well, maybe not as mad, his thoughts were at least coherent, despite the odd nickname he’d given her, and the weird attachment to her. Maybe she’d been the first person to treat him kindly, so he felt obliged to return the favor? She’d seen how underhanded his words and implications were, at least in some points, but she never detected a tone of malice towards her in his words directly to her- though anyone could throw on a mask of kindliness and then talk the most horrible things of them behind their back. Whether he actually liked her or just tolerated her, she wasn’t very keen on seeing just how furious he could get, at least not towards her. The bare taste of his stifled rage towards Astrid was enough to make her uncomfortable to the point of hoping that same fury would never be directed to her, especially in a circumstance where he had no restraint. His anger was chaotic, reeked of danger, felt unpredictable- it wasn’t just because he was a madman- but moreso that he had experience, far more than her, or at least Festus had mentioned that he had been skilled at his work at one point. He could probably make her feel pain in ways she could never conceive. He was both unreadable but also seemingly transparent- and she couldn’t tell which was the true mask on his face, making her realize the bitter truth- he was still a stranger to her, as she was to him. His disarmingly charming attitude and harmless behavior had lowered her guard to rubble- at least for him. She’d been so willing to spill secrets to him- was that something he learned within his time with the Brotherhood, or a natural talent at dipping honeyed words into the ears of those he wanted to get something from? She chewed the inside of her cheek. This was making her irritable. Why was she getting so worked up over him and what he could do? He was just some mad out of his mind Imperial, skilled assassin or not. Still, the way he was able to get her to talk, so easily, was it because she felt safe confiding in him, or did he lure her into a false sense of security? She furrowed her brow and pushed 5 septims over the counter for her coffee, not even sparing to do the math over how much she had at this point. That was an issue for future Finn.

 

She’d managed to find out where Nilsine lived after speaking to a beggar, the same she’d met before, in fact. Silda was more than willing to give the information, especially after Finn passed her 10 septims in preemptive gratitude. Better to speak to the ones who were ignored in the city than those who might crack easier. The beggars had no obligation to help a city that never even spares them a glance, they wouldn’t consider giving her away if the clues lead up to a suspect- well, that, and the rumor that a serial killer was loose on the streets, which the blame would most certainly be shifted to. The idea of a killer on the loose made her feel a little at unease- being an assassin didn’t instantly grant her immunity to death by the hands of some lone killer. She was still vulnerable, especially being a rookie with a lot to learn and fit into. Nonetheless, she had a job over cowardice, and she was fit to see it through- forfeiting such an easy bonus wasn’t her forte. She was gonna kill this woman and get her pay.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Killing Nilsine wasn’t the hard part, it was making sure she was home, and breaking in unseen and unheard when she was sure everyone was asleep or not around to hear her. She was definitely home- that part was ensured, out of fear for the murderer on the loose- unfortunate for her that a locked house wouldn’t keep Finn from slitting her throat. And so, waiting in shadow for a guard to pass, Finn waited. The guard made one round, according to Silda, because the Nords complained of the torchlight if they circled more than once. Stupid, in her opinion, to forfeit safety for comfortable sleep, when a murderer is on the loose, even moreso in the middle of a war. Finn didn’t understand Nords, or Skyrim for that matter.  Nonetheless, it was a benefit to her.

 

As soon as the footfall faded out of earshot, she focused her attention to the door, creeping in night’s shadow to pick the lock. It was opened with little difficulty, she was learning the skill quickly. Finn was soon enough inside the residence.

 

Spare for candlelight that lit a room or two, the house was dark. Finn had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the level of darkness. She stayed silent, listening for any sign of movement from inside the home. All seemed silent. Finn crept through each room, careful to muffle her hooves as much as she could manage against the wood floor. Seemed like everyone was upstairs. Finn made her way to the second level. Now it was her task to find which room Nilsine slept in. From what she gathered, Nilsine was the daughter of the family, the only one left, for the matter. She crept into the first room, only to find a man sleeping alone in a single bed. Sheesh. She backed out and opted for the next room, only to find it to be a master bedroom, with a older woman sleeping alone. Well, if there was one thing she could gather from the situation, it was nothing positive. The last room held her target: Nilsine, if the description served her correctly. She slept alone, soundly and unaware of what her fate was. Finn moved closer, drawing her dagger and preparing to strike. Nilsine shifted, but did not roll over, her back still facing the silent assassin.

 

It was already over the moment Finn set upon her, muffling her with a hand and slitting her throat with the other. She’d made sure to slit in the same area as she had with one of her previous contracts; the paranoid loner. She had remembered how she’d silenced his screams with a well placed cut. Nilsine thrashed wildly, but no sound could escape, thanks to Finn’s quick movements and memory. Finn waited, staring with a wide, wild grin, reveling in the glory of the kill as the life faded from her victim’s body. She couldn’t make a sound; lest she blow her cover, but she wished so badly she could laugh and enjoy the rush of adrenaline-surged emotions- she had to run. Or make her way out quietly, and then bolt.

 

And so she did.

 

She considered leaving, riding all the way back to Markarth now, but fatigue tugged at her senses and warned her that she had to rest first- so she would, for now, at least. She crept her way through the streets, aiming to buy a night at the tavern, but- no. No, on the off chance that people would be questioned, the innkeeper maybe having loose lips, making note of her late night entrance around the time of the murder though nobody would hopefully figure that part out, such a miniscule detail, but Finn was on high alert, and daresay paranoia fueled her. She had an idea.

 

Closing the door behind her, she relaxed easily now within a familiar house. Not her first choice, of course, but it would do, now that it was vacant. She locked the door behind her. She was in the Aretino residence, formerly where Aventus was hiding, but now thankfully vacant, as he had left soon after she departed to the tavern. The house was empty now, and almost barren spare for the remains of the Black Sacrament, leftover bones and almost entirely melted candles strewn about. Thankfully the flesh and perishable parts were disposed of, so she’d not have to worry about stench. Finn collapsed into the old bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

She awoke to sunlight shafting through a dusty window. It was silent, an almost welcoming presence, but oh so lonely. She was ready to be back in the comfort of the Falkreath Sanctuary. She was ready to hear Babette reenacting her latest kill, Veezara’s soft laughter when Moon-Eye murmured a joke only for his ears, Arnbjorn’s idle humming as he sharpened a sword. She missed Nazir’s cooking too. It truly felt like home to her. She sighed and combed her hair out of her eyes.

 

Stepping into the freezing winter air was a wake-up call, snapping her out of her hazy, longing state. She was alert again. People chattered down the street, but she paid no mind, instead making her way to the gates. Passing guards who murmured worriedly.

“The Butcher struck again, broke into Clan Shatter-Shield’s house this time. Are they targeting the family for some reason?”   
“Poor Friga, losing both of her daughters like that, of all things. Gods, that poor family.”

“It’s a damn shame, and we haven’t even got a single clue as to who’s behind this…”

 

Finn paid them little regard, exiting the gates. Making her way down the icy bridge, to the stables, mounting her horse and leaving for Markarth once more. She had a journey ahead of her, and no time to think on the contract until after she was done and paid.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  


“Alain Dufont now lies dead.” Was the first thing out of her mouth as soon as she knew that she and Muiri were alone. Muiri’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Oh, thank you. Bastard got exactly what he deserved. And… I heard about Nilsine. You’ve gone beyond fulfilling our bargain.” She paused, reaching into her coin purse.

“Here- Take this. It’s your payment. And… a symbol of my affection. 600 gold should be more than enough.” She murmured, passing a near-bursting pouch of coins and a ring into Finn’s hands. Finn raised an eyebrow. The woman certainly seemed to form quick affections with those who were kind to her. Finn made no comment, but nodded and stashed the gold and the ring.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” She replied nonchalantly.

“I’ll never forget you, or what you’ve done for me.” Muiri’s confidence seemed to waver, her cheeks burning a soft red in the candlelight. She took a step back, and then returned to her work. Finn left silently, eager to return home.

 

The ride home was going to be long and quiet, plenty more time for her to think now. She both dreaded and anticipated it.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Where You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYj2sSFh1Ew
> 
> \-----------------

She returned home in the dead of the night. She delayed herself, got lost when she took a wrong turn because she’d been too deeply lost in her own thoughts. Darkness painted the wilds of Skyrim in deep blacks and blues, the moon barely giving any light- cloud cover. It was going to rain soon, she could smell it.

 

Despite the biting cold and ferocity of animals, Finn was starting to like Skyrim- she’d never truly adapt to the freezing temperatures, but the forlorn feeling of traveling alone on barren roads, see forests all around her, the way the evergreen trees dotted the landscape and reached as far as they could strain, as if trying to scrape the sky and breach Oblivion itself- She liked it. The muted colors of Skyrim were beautiful in themselves, and made man-made structures with more saturated vivid aspect seemed to pop right out of the land. It was eyecatching, it was different from dense forest of Valenwood. Though she did miss the aforementioned, she knew she could never return, right now at least, when wounds were fresh and the trees were still charred with the hatred and violence they’d witnessed.

 

That was how Finn lost her way, she realized too late, when the path taken looked unfamiliar and unused. She had to backtrack, which cost her time, and find her way back to Falkreath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lake Ilinalta was beautiful as she passed it, even in the darkness. The dark black water shivered and seemed to breathe with motion beneath the surface- as if something was buried beneath the surface tension of the water, writhing and wanting to be found again. Maybe she’d go swimming in it during the day, if she ever had time to take a break. Maybe she’d find sunken treasure. Thunder rumbled distantly, as if to warn her to hurry on her way, to which her horse had no problem obliging to do so.

 

When she was under the cover of Falkreath’s trees, the rain started to fall. Drizzling at first, sliding off of the foliage like it was traversing a maze of deep green just to reach the soil. Finn paid little mind to the rain, though it was cold on her cheeks. It was the call of a wolf, somewhere within the forest, that urged her to once more pick up the pace and head home. She supposed it was late enough already. The rain was really starting to pour when she reached the familiarity of the Black Door, listening to it’s strange thrumming pulse, like a heartbeat and the wind through a cave all at once. As she removed her horse’s saddlebags and let Snowy loose to seek shelter, she wondered briefly if it was possibly the echoing whisper of the Void itself, or at least a mere scrap of what the Void could possibly be like. Her thoughts were violently interrupted by a blinding flash of lightning, followed by an earsplitting crescendo of thunder. Finn yelped and pushed her way inside the sanctuary.

 

It was silent inside. Nobody stirred. The rain outside roared down on the earth that embraced the sanctuary, making a muted echo effect. The ceiling leaked in several places, but nothing beyond a slow drip. Finn let herself relax, for the first time in ages, it felt. Snoring arose from Astrid’s room as she passed. Arnbjorn, probably. She moved further into the heart of the sanctuary, listening to the loud rush of water pooling within the main space. Because of the rain, the water was rushing in at a much more rapid pace, threatening to flood the pool and spill over to soak the stone floor of the sanctuary. She hoped it wouldn’t, for everyone’s sake, and the thought of having to mop up a mess.

 

She shook water from her hair and dared to grab a spare towel- Some of her braver siblings dared to bathe in the pool, out in the open. Finn had no problem with it, formerly living in a mass-family community built on helping and being very public with eachother- nudity had never been an embarrassing concept to her. But nonetheless, her current predicament- the desire to keep a secret in fear of what the reaction would be if anyone found out- that’s what discouraged her from daring to bathe in the open. She hoped and suspected that the Brotherhood wouldn’t turn a scrutinizing eye on her if she were to be outed- but the fear was still there. She’d been outed in Cyrodiil once, coincidentally by a Nord. To her surprise and terrified dismay, the reaction was not a positive one- she was practically chased from town, scorned and marked as several phrases she dare not think of. Cruel, Nords were, to what they didn’t understand. She wouldn’t risk repeating that, especially not now that she had a stable job and what could be considered a family.

 

She toweled water from her hair and patted down her armor, taking care to wring her tail out, watching water drip onto the stone. A brief duck into the kitchen and back rewarded her with a snack- leftover cheese and bread that she took pleasure in devouring like a starving dog. Her legs stretched, barely grazing the edge of the pool. She flexed and splayed her hooves, feeling content with herself. She supposed she’d call it a night now, attempt to fix her skewed sleep cycle. She stood up and stretched, hanging the towel to dry out.

 

She was surrounded by sleeping siblings, as she cautiously moved to peel off her armor and hang it to dry off. She was quick with her movements, meticulous to ensure that even if anyone had been awake, they wouldn’t see her changing. She threw on baggy black braies and a loose white shirt to sleep in, and attempted to lay down to let fatigue claim her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

 

The distant rumble of thunder.

 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

  


It was useless. She’d been laying there for at least 40 minutes, it felt like. She stared at the ceiling in darkness, listening to the rain ebb away and the wait between thunder clashes grow further and further apart. She sighed and slid out of bed with the speed of a geriatric sload. She’d go walk outside, now that the rain was slowing to a stop. Maybe it would tire her enough to sleep. She stumbled out of the sleeping quarters and shuffled down the hall, passing the room that held their matron. Something cold seeped down her back and filled her lungs, stomach, and numbed her brain. It was as if she was covered in cold honey, freezing and thick. As disgusting as it sounded… something felt comforting. Like the warmth of a mother embracing their child when they’ve come seeking reassurance from a nightmare, but freezing cold to the touch. Numbing, buzzing, freezing, but oh so warm all the same. _Yes, come to me_ , it lured at the back of her head, though she couldn’t tell if it was her internal desires or something else calling to her. She found her hooves taking her directly into the heart of the sanctuary.

 

The Night Mother’s room.

 

Someone laid awake in bed, staring at the wall they faced. The listened to the soft clatter of hooves shuffling against stone in a near zombie-esque walk. Their chest rose and fell slowly, but their heart was hammering against their ribcage.

 

Finn regained a sliver of her own mind, and found herself standing in front of the stone coffin. Out of a subconscious gesture of respect, she backed up and sat on one of the old wooden pews that lined the room and surrounded the ancient matron’s stone container. Her mind swam thick and sluggish, as if she were sleepy now, but couldn’t fall asleep. She wondered briefly if she was dreaming, and had never truly left her bed. Half lidded eyes gazed at the detail and decoration on the coffin in silent respect. Her head slouched over just slightly. Her head was swarmed with a dull, freezing cold feeling of both numbness and a buzz, as if her leg had fallen asleep, but in her head instead. In a sense, she felt as if she could see herself in third person, watching her own body sitting on the bench, but she felt no panic or fear. She felt nothing, spare for a dull comfort.

 

She exhaled softly, but her breath seemed to echo on continuously as if she were in a canyon. As if she were in the Void. Was the world around her warping in time, or was she dreaming?

 

_“Finn…”_ Some warped voice hissed to her.

 

She opened her mouth to speak, as if something was waiting for her to talk in return, but suddenly, painfully, the feeling receded instantly and disappeared, leaving her to jerk into consciousness with a sluggish feeling of impact.

 

His heart had stopped briefly when he stepped through the doorway. Something had felt off when he heard Finn’s hooves dragging over stone- since when had she gotten home? But he’d brushed it off and tried to sleep again- something that never came easily to him. The silence and uncomfortable gut intuition that followed was enough to jerk him out of bed and have him rush to check on his dear Mother. Something in his gut twisted when he saw Finn sitting on one of the pews, head bowed. Something in his head begged that she would be the one he’d discover sitting there, something pleaded, but he still felt winded. He’d called her name once, but she didn’t respond. A bolt of worry flashed in his chest- the way she was sitting, he wondered if there was something wrong, horribly horribly wrong. What if she’d been poisoned during her contract, or injured, and hadn’t been able to attend to it? What if she was dying? He rushed over to her side, now feeling panic as his thoughts raced into overdrive. Not again, he didn’t need to witness the death of another member of his dying organization. It would drive him positively… mad, with guilt, unable to bear such a weight.

 

Her eyes were open, but half lidded, but as soon as he’d placed his hand on her, she jerked into the waking world with a start, disoriented and confused. She drew in a breath quickly- sharply, piercing, but so, so so so so, _so_ relieving to hear.

 

“Finn, Finn-” He started.

“Ci… Cicero? What… Uh, did I wake you up- no, wait, what… What’s going on?” She was very disoriented, glancing around and settling her gaze on him once more. The Imperial felt a chill run down his spine when he gazed into those sad red eyes. Her thick, round eyebrows bunched with confusion- her ears, they twitched, just barely but Cicero noticed it! His stomach dropped.

 

“Finny- are you alright? Cicero thought… Well, nevermind what the fool thought. What are you doing in here?” He demanded. Harsh as it came, though he didn’t quite mean for it to come out the way it had- She hadn’t touched their Mother, only sat, maybe watched, but he still felt a bitter pang of jealousy- He’d been devoted to his matron for years, he should be the only one allowed to share space with her! But that was possessiveness talking, maybe something more, he realized. Longing, is what his head taunted, but he brushed it off annoyedly.

 

“I… I’m not really sure. I.. I thought I was going for a walk but then things got weird and my mind was… It wasn’t there. I think? I thought I saw myself sitting here, like I’d left my body? I was so tired, and freezing, freezing cold.” She mumbled, tripping over her own words. Cicero realized that she was definitely telling the truth. Something in his gut sank with a feeling of grim acceptance, but he fought it with a bitter fury.

 

“You look exhausted- How late did you arrive to our little sanctuary?” He pressed, placing a hand on her wrist. Her skin was warm against his palm, and felt like it was covered in peach fuzz- Fur, he realized, but thinned out as it laced outward onto her hand- her hand that was entirely bare of fur. Finn flinched, but didn’t move or attempt to remove his hand.

“Late, it was just starting to storm when I got inside.” She hummed, staring at Cicero's hand. It was covered in tiny scars that striped his fingers and peeked from the visible parts of his palm, disrupting the pale skin in odd patterns.

 

Her eyes wandered up his arms and focused on what he was wearing- surprisingly, not his motley- well, of course, it was night, he was probably trying to sleep before she woke him with her clumsy hooves. He was wearing a plain red shirt and black braies. It was simple on him- and his jester cap was missing. His hair was much more visible now, messy and not combed back to fit under his hat, the pretty auburn seemed to shimmer in the dancing candlelight. His face- dark circles under his eyes that were more than the messy black makeup he wore, the odd eyeliner that usually decorated his face- was still graced with a worried expression- Did truly care about her wellbeing? Was he genuinely interested in being her friend, and not just a tolerable acquaintance? She searched his face, looking for a truth- until she realized he’d asked another question.

 

“I’m sorry, I spaced out- I’m still not feeling right. What did you say?” She mumbled, averting her eyes embarrassedly. Cicero forced a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s okay- Cicero understands that you’re disoriented. Poor thing, you got here so late… Astrid has been working you senseless.” He was quick to accuse, but Finn made no comment.

“Cicero... Cicero just wanted to know if you need medical attention- Were you injured while you were out? Perhaps a bump on the head?” He pressed, peering at her face. It was his turn to inspect how she looked, but moreso out of concern for her wellbeing, he convinced himself.

 

Her face seemed relatively undamaged- Well, Cicero took that back. Amidst the odd scruff on her jaw- there was a fresh cut, very recently scabbed over. It looked a little deep, but not serious. She’d gotten into a scuffle with someone- presumably her contract. His eyes wandered over the rest of her body- mostly in the areas where her skin was visible- noticing various scars on the base of her neck- burn scars, but they didn’t look recent. Cicero chose not to comment on them.

 

“-think so, no, The guy had a warhammer but he didn’t know how to use it, just nicked me with his dagger that he pulled out of nowhere on me. I broke his ribs though, and then smashed his windpipe. It was pretty cool.” He tuned back into her talking just in time.

“Smashed his windpipe? How?” He perked up in interest.

“Kicked him over and then brought my hoof down on his throat. Hate to be on the receiving end of that one, to be honest.” She replied, inspecting her own fingers.

“Ooooh! That _had_ to hurt. Cicero wished he had big strong hooves for kicking and crushing things.” He giggled, peering down at her hooves, admiring the very thought of them doing such damage to a living being. Useful, it must be, to have natural weapons like her hooves and horns.

 

“It’s not always great, I slip, especially on ice. It’s got it’s good and bad parts.” She shrugged, and Cicero nodded understandingly. He finally removed his hand, suddenly conscious of the prolonged contact. His expression grew grave with new thoughts that sprung into his head.

 

“Did… Did you hear anything, when you were feeling strange? A voice, someone speaking to you, addressing you?” He pressed, leaning closer to her. Finn looked confused.

“I… Might have? I’m not sure, my thoughts weren’t really my own- but they also were. I’m not sure. At one point I could have sworn something had told me to come to them. It was in my head, not out loud though. I think it was just my thoughts.” She babbled, confused at her own mental state.

 

Cicero set his jaw, thinking quietly with a wild expression briefly flashing over his eyes. He didn’t like this- but he loved it. Was he happy? Relieved? Could she be? But no, no. Cicero had waited for so long. He deserved it, not anyone else, not even Finny, who he was growing quite used to. But… Mother never spoke to Cicero. Cicero wasn’t the Listener. Cicero had to find the Listener, as maddening as the thought of his efforts being in vain- but not! He was preserving the thing he was dedicated to- His Brotherhood, his Mother! But still… so disappointing. He hummed.

 

“You should rest. You can tell Cicero about your contract when you’re feeling better, and not exhausted. This poor fool would love to hear the details of your killings, he hasn’t killed in so, so long…” He whimpered, turning his head away briefly. He’d have to think about this when he was alone. He should talk to Mother, talk at Mother,  and then decide if he should help push Finn in the right direction- to test and see if she were truly the word he hated to admit- Listener. Mother would be the final judge of that. Cicero didn’t want it to be true, deep down.

 

Finn nodded slowly, but made no effort to move. While Cicero had been thinking to himself, she’d returned her gaze to the coffin, staring with a blank, somewhat gaunt expression, emptiness in her eyes. Cicero glanced between her and his matron’s coffin in silence, nervously wringing his hands. The satyr seemed to snap out of the trance, standing abruptly and exiting, leaving Cicero alone in sweet, horrid silence.

 

For the briefest moment he longed to call for her to come back, but he suppressed the desire with a bitter swallow. He waited awhile, in silence, unsure of what to say, staring at the door, but then returned his gaze to his mother, voice wavering as he spoke.

 

“You… chose her, didn’t you? Was… Was she a better choice than me? Your loyal Keeper, the one who’s served you for longer than any of our dear siblings?” Cicero paused, as if he’d expected an answer.

“Of… Of course you did, Why wouldn’t you? She’s so strong, Cicero can see it, in her mind and attitude and her physical strength… And she’s a satyr, she’s special… different. She’s something new, to our Brotherhood. Of course you’d choose her over Cicero- Cicero, a boring Imperial who’s lost his damned mind half of the time, yes? You sent me the gift of the laughter- purified Cicero, cleansed him, made him anew- but that wasn’t enough, was it? Not enough to appoint poor Cicero as your loyal Listener… Such an honor you think I don’t deserve.” He spat, but his voice wavered and threatened to break. His shoulders sank.

 

“But Cicero should be proud, proud of dear Finn to have such an honor. That is, of course, if she succeeds in telling Cicero the binding words, oh yes… But Cicero is sure she will. A gut feeling, though you cannot confirm or deny this, obviously… No, no, of course you couldn’t. Right… Not- Not that I’m angry! Cicero… understands... though Cicero may feel envious...” He paused and stared at his hands in bittersweet silence.

 

“Oh, Mother, why do I feel so afraid of Finn, yet so… so drawn to her? She’s so interesting- oh, but Cicero is sure this is just loneliness speaking to him, so so long being alone, and she was the first face to show such kindness… even though she doesn’t show much emotion. Cicero has only seen her smile once! Cicero thought it was a trick of the moonlight, but she did! And… and… It just felt so nice, Cicero made her smile, for real, not forced or sympathetic, as so many have offered to this unsettling fool… Yes, Cicero knows he makes others uncomfortable with his… off-kilter mannerisms. But she wasn’t uncomfortable, no… She’s cautious, but she likes Cicero… beyond Cicero’s skillful talking, yes, I feel… a little guilty for talking her into spilling her secrets… but your sweet Keeper was so curious, so interested in who she is… So well guarded, so mysterious… She’s so... ” He trailed off, picking the skin around his nails.

 

“Cicero is rambling. He should practice what he preaches and go sleep. He will see. He will see tomorrow, if you have truly chosen Finn. Or maybe the next, or the next. Maybe he won’t! Maybe you’ll write the story, take control for once and lead Finn yourself… Cicero only hopes this is really the beginning of something that’ll save us all… I’m tired, of watching my sanctuaries fall. So… so tired… Goodnight, Mother, Cicero will return tomorrow to perform the usual rituals to keep you with us. Maybe then…” He stood and returned to bed, hoping this time that he’d get a chance to sleep.

 

Finn was already sound asleep, oblivious to what had happened after she’d left.


	14. Interlude: Alduin's Return

[WHITERUN. WEST WATCHTOWER. 5 AM.]

 

>>> [SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED.](https://youtu.be/E-tnAWSxM-0) <<<

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the only time I animate something for an interlude, at least for now. The video and images corrupted several times and gave me grief uploading it, but the effort paid off, even if it's simple frame-by-frame and stills.


	15. Dragon Rising

Finn wasn’t there when Cicero awoke early. She was nowhere. There were traces of her- her armor left on a nightstand by her bed, her weapons left with Arnbjorn, but no Finn. She had vanished, curiously enough.

 

Looping his belt over his hips and lacing his motley closed, he shuffled his way into the dining room, where everyone else was gathered, waiting for Nazir and Babette to serve breakfast. Cicero hurriedly brushed his hair out of his face and tucked it neatly behind his ears, straightening his haphazardly flung on hat. Festus gave him a quiet _‘mornin’_ , the elderly assassin still groggy from waking. The hairless Khajiit Cicero had come to know as Moon-Eye gestured for him to sit next to him, offering a free seat with a tired but warm smile, his single blue eye twinkling. Cicero noticed silently that Veezara held the Khajiit’s hand under the table, rubbing a thumb over Moon-Eye’s palm. Cicero smiled in return and sat down stiffly, resting his elbows on the worn wooden table. Astrid and Arnbjorn sat together at the end of the table, far from the Cicero. Good, he preferred it that way. Babette was happily sliding platters onto the table, taking them from Nazir and moving with efficient speed. Movement from across the jester alerted him to Gabriella’s arrival, to which he gave a friendly nod to the dark elf. Everyone quickly settled into a low murmur of chatter, making groggy conversation as they began to eat. Nazir had made cinnamon pastries, with large helpings of breakfast meats and eggs. Cicero savored the flavor of the assassin’s talented cooking skills.

 

Astrid was the first to realize someone was missing.

“Hey, where’s Finn? She doesn’t have any contracts today- right Nazir?” The blonde had put her tankard down suddenly with a confused expression.

“None from me, no. She finished all of those off quickly and I haven’t had the time to assign her any new ones- Moon-Eye has been keeping the waiting lines empty. You got ants in your armor, Moony?” He laughed jokingly. Moon-Eye snorted in the middle of taking a swig of milk, causing it to spurt from his nose.

The tabled erupted in laughter as the Khajiit reached for a rag to wipe his face. Cicero felt the mood lighten immensely, as he joined the collective guffawing with the Khajiit.

 

Astrid tried to stifle her laughter, speaking over the ruckus.

“Seriously though, nobody’s seen Finn?” She asked again, only to get a weird noise in response from Babette, who was furiously trying to chew and swallow a mouthful of bacon.

“I saw her, she was up early, like about 30 minutes after that weird noise. She said she was going to go check something out at Lake Ilinalta that she didn’t get to stop for yesterday. Speaking of that noise, did you guys hear it too? Around 5 AM?”

 

Finn had gotten up at 5 AM to go do something? That was strange, Cicero had expected her to sleep in late today, with how tired she seemed. His thoughts were interrupted when the table erupted in agreement. Cicero hadn’t heard anything, he’d slept soundly, for once.

 

“I heard it too, I’d gotten up to get a drink and nearly tripped over my own feet it startled me so bad.” Veezara chuckled. Moon-Eye grinned widely.

“So that’s what that ‘oh shit’ I heard was about. I thought you’d fallen out of bed!” He rasped, his voice light with laughter. Festus snorted and rolled his eyes playfully.

 

“It was the Greybeards.” Arnbjorn grunted, but his voice was soft, solemn. Everyone quieted down almost immediately. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and continued.

“Dovahkiin. It means Dragonborn. Like the legends.” He was brief with his explanation.

“How do you know that? And what does that mean, for us? Are we gonna have problems now or something? Look, if the world is gonna end I wanna do some things before then. Bucket List!” Moon-Eye babbled nervously. Veezara glanced at him and rubbed his palm comfortingly. Cicero felt a twinge of envy at their relationship.

“The world isn’t gonna end, Moony. And I knew it because I studied a little bit of the Dragonborn legends back when I ran with the Companions. It does mean, however, that they’ve located or suspect that they’ve found another Dragonborn. This could be big- maybe not to us, but a Dragonborn hasn’t been seen since the death of Martin Septim in 3E 433. They were calling to them. They were trying to summon them to the Throat of the World to test them, most likely. Why a Dragonborn has suddenly surfaced now, I don’t know. Maybe it’s got something to do with that big black dragon that destroyed Helgen.” Everyone was silent, glancing at each other from around the table. A chill ran down Cicero’s spine. He focused his attention on his food.

 

“Did everyone try the eggs? I think the eggs taste lovely today.” Nazir piped up, trying to change the subject. Several hands immediately reached for the platter of scrambled eggs.

 

Cicero was silent, eating his breakfast in contemplation. He wondered what Finn was up to. If there was a dragon about- the first he’d heard of this news- he wondered if she’d be okay. He was the first to finish his food, standing abruptly and taking his plates to the designated washtable. He did his own dishes, always did, as was the tradition from living alone for so long. He felt several pairs of eyes burning into his back. Once done, he turned to leave.

 

“Oh, thanks for washing your plates, Cicero, maybe you’ll set an example for some of our other members.” Nazir called to him, though the statement was moreso a jab at Babette, who giggled and batted her eyelashes innocently at Nazir. Cicero just nodded, not even sparing a glance, and waved a hand, flashing a thumbs up.

 

“He’s certainly acting… Less flamboyant than usual.” Festus grunted, staring at the empty upper level where Cicero had disappeared, presumably to care for their matron’s corpse.

“Hah, relatable. Waking up in the morning never agrees with me, either.” Moon-Eye laughed, finishing his drink and gesturing for another refill. Veezara handed him the pitcher of milk with a lazy grin.

“Seems suspicious to me.” Astrid mumbled, picking at her food. Festus rolled his eyes.

“You’re suspicious about everything, Astrid. No offense, of course, you have reason to be. But I’m sure there’s nothing wrong unless we try to make something wrong out of it.” Gabriella spoke up. Astrid sighed, leaning against Arnbjorn.

“I know, I just want the best for us.” She murmured. Festus averted his eyes but held his tongue. Veezara noticed his expression and matched it with his own weary stare at his plate.

“Cicero bringing our Night Mother to us will open the doors to the best for us, though.” Babette chimed in, picking at a link of sausage. Astrid said nothing.

 

Breakfast dispersed in weary silence.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  


Somewhere on a small island in the middle of Lake Ilinalta, Finn relaxed. Behind her stood the Lady Stone, amidst patches of wild mountain flowers and under the shade of trees, watching the calm water roll against the rocks. She’d seen the island yesterday in the pre-rain fog, she was lucky enough to be able to slip out today and see it herself. Her hair was soaked through from the swim over- and furthermore, so was her horse, who despite her insistence to have the mare stay on the shore- Snowy had followed her, swimming after her until they reached the island. The horse now relaxed in the warmth of the day, legs folded up under her. Sunlight dappled the satyr’s skin and attempted to dry her hair, warming her to the core. She deserved a day to relax, and Babette had assured her that Astrid wouldn’t be mad at her for taking a few hours to herself- contracts were running thin at the moment, anyways, though this was a little worrying in the full aspect of things, regarding who they were as an organization.

 

Finn was gonna get some sun today. She sat down slowly, and then rolled over onto her stomach, letting the rays warm her scarred back. She’d opted for finding a pair of her own old underwear to use for swimming- faded red braies and a worn bra. Exposure didn’t bother her, at least not now, when there was nobody around. Today was her day of peace, or at least, her few hours.

 

And that she did, taking in the warmth of the day and the fair weather that greatly contrasted the events of last night. Staying within the proximity of the Lady Stone also did wonders for her scars and injuries- bruises faded and scars stopped aching when she put pressure on them, her lower back felt as if there was nothing wrong- Chronic pains had plagued her all her life, making it agony to stand for long durations and then sitting- her back felt like it was being horribly disfigured when she sat or laid down. The stone offered some relief, or whatever radiated from it- some luck or caring grace from the gods, she supposed, though maybe there was nothing and it was purely the atmosphere and relaxing mood that alleviated her pains. Regardless, she was in a good enough mood to venture towards Whiterun after a brief swim back to the shaded bank of the lake, taking a minute to change into a loose white work shirt and worn trousers. She was in need of a new weapon, and this was her chance.

 

Arriving at the crossroad that lead towards the gates of Whiterun, she took a turn past the meaderies and continued onward- only to notice a severe lack of guards- in fact, there were none anywhere to be seen. Finn frowned and focused her eyes on the road ahead- only to see copious amounts of smoke rising from a distant watchtower. She gently dug her hooves into her mare’s side, urging her to speed up. Weapons would have to wait, she wanted to see this.

 

The sight was devastating, and breathtaking- the watchtower was all but destroyed, broken bodies of Whiterun guards littered the surrounding grass- scorched grass, by flames just now starting to fade out. Finn noticed that some guards were horribly disfigured, ripped in half or missing rather large chunks of their bodies, organs strewn out under them like a puddle of viscera. It was venturing further into the smoke that revealed her answer to the unspoken question- her nose burned and her eyes watered, but they didn’t betray her- not this time.

 

The gigantic, bleached skeleton of a dragon laid out in the grass, smoke rising from the remaining strands of flesh that clung to its bones. Finn did a double take, dismounted, and ran over to it, immediately investigating. It reeked of burning flesh, and steam still rose from it’s skull. Finn could hardly believe her senses. It was real. Dragons were real. Her thoughts raced a million miles an hour- what would she do, what could she do? Would the Brotherhood care if she told them? She scampered back over to her saddlebags and fished out a pair of gloves. Nobody would believe her if she didn’t bring back proof, right? And since there were no guards here- living, at least- she had limited time to steal a few bones before someone did return, or came to investigate as she had. Steal bones? Was she really going to do this? Find a dragon skeleton, and the first thing you think of doing is stealing bones- nice one, Finn. She slipped the gloves on and focused her watering eyes on the skeleton- she had to move quickly- what did she even want to take? Would she go big? Small? No, not small, anyone could accuse her of taking an animal bone… Finn realized what she would take.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Riding back to the sanctuary with a femur bone and a dragon skull is harder than she ever expected. Nobody had caught her- of course, she took a backway, not even a path, but just blindly navigating the woods back to Falkreath. Nonetheless, she made it, somehow, early afternoon, at that.

 

Getting through the door was harder, but she managed. Astrid was waiting for her, albeit taken by surprise when she stumbled in. Finn nearly dropped the skull.

“Ooooh, hi Astrid-- uh, you’ll never guess what I found…” She hoisted the skull up and opened and closed its jaws as if she were manipulating a giant puppet. Astrid grimaced.

“Sweet Sithis, Finn, where have you been? You smell like smoke- and wherever did you get that from?!” She yapped angrily, taking the skull from Finn to investigate. Her expression blanked when she realized what exactly she was holding- a dragon skull, real, in the flesh- er, bone.

“I was going to stop in Whiterun to get better weapons- buuuut I saw smoke, and followed it to the carnage. And found a dead dragon. I wasn’t going to take anything at first but I thought that nobody would believe me if I didn’t and came back with just bare claims so I dragged this skull all the way back and I-” She paused, gasping for breath, whipping a femur bone from behind her back.

 

“-Got this as well. Oh my gods. I have an idea. Can your husband make weapons out of bone?” She babbled, her thoughts running a million a minute.

Astrid took a minute to process what she’d said.

“Dead Dragon. In Whiterun. Did- Did you… skin it for the skull? It looks so clean…” She murmured, examining it.

Finn shook her head.

“No, it was already like that. Like, it was smoking when I found it, but clean. Like everything had just burned up.” She took the skull back from Astrid, now pondering the connotations of the circumstance. Her thoughts sidetracked again.

“But anyways, if I gave this femur to Arnbjorn could he make a dagger or two out of it for me? Like, a real nice sharp one?” She persisted.

“Oh, and he can keep whatever else is left of the bone I guess. As long as I get a dagger.” Astrid narrowed her eyes, still trying to process the situation.

“Uh- yeah, sure, you can ask him. Listen, Finn. I know you didn’t mean any bad- and you’re new- but _don’t_ leave like that again without getting my permission first. Understand?” Her tone was stern, and there was a strained, almost panicked look in her eyes, like rage that was thinly veiled. Finn nodded sheepishly, her ears suddenly burning for some reason.

“I’ll go… talk to Arnbjorn…” She mumbled, and made a quick exit.

 

Astrid stood in silence, before returning to the map sprawled out on the table, barren of any markers or daggers. She grit her teeth and balled her fists suddenly, muttering a curse under her breath. She was losing control of her sanctuary- her authority. She had less and less control every day, and now Cicero was threatening her leadership with that rotted corpse everyone insisted on calling their mother- It wasn’t fair! She worked her ass off for so many years with no assistance from a Listener or any version of Black Hand- she deserved her title and power! She was the matron of this sanctuary. Funny how everything seemed to be turned upside down after Finn arrived… She narrowed her eyes. She liked the woman, truly, as a sister- but suspicion was the devil’s opening playing card, and it plagued her mind and buried it’s roots deep within her heart. She had to do something.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  


Arnbjorn was thoroughly, and very verbally shocked at Finn’s findings, examining them.

“You mean to tell me, tidbit, that you found an entire corpse of a dragon in Whiterun. And the first thing you do is tear its head off?” He teased, chuckling as he ran a finger over the dragon’s teeth. Finn nodded, bobbing her head and shoulders and bouncing on her hooves.

“-And, you want me to make a weapon from this.” He handed the skull back to Finn and traded it for the femur, which she juggled between full hands and passed to him.

“Yes, please! I really want two daggers made from this- If you can do that, of course. I’ve heard that one can make weapons from bone so I was hoping dragonbone applied to that…?” Her ears twitched just slightly, rising a little in hopefulness. Arnbjorn made note of it, but said nothing. He stared at the large bone thoughtfully. It was an ambitious task- a challenge, and he was up for playing. He grinned at her.

 

“Well, hamhock, I think I’m up for this, so you’re in luck. I’ll set the hilts in steel to make sure it’s strong and give them a loop on the pommel- since those seem to be the talk of the sanctuary right now- But, in return… Hmm.” He squinted at the bone. He didn’t need anything as payment from her, he was happy to take the challenge as is, but he enjoyed the opportunity to tease her around.

 

“...Go convince Nazir to do steaks tonight. Medium Rare. And give me your Dwarven dagger after I’m done with this, I wanna experiment with the metal, since you’ll no longer need it. Deal?” He set the bone down gently on his anvil and dug around for the materials needed to start working. Finn ‘mm-hmmed’ and trotted off to find Nazir.

 

“And I won’t be done with this until at least late tomorrow, so don’t pester me, okay?” He called after her. Finn ‘MMM-HMMMED’ louder, and sped her pace.

  
  


Convincing Nazir to change dinner plans was easy- it was early afternoon, he hadn’t even started prepping for dinner. He did, however, tease her for running Arnbjorn’s errands for him, immediately concluding that it was him who had set her up to the task. Finn shrugged it off and merely said she didn’t mind, though she knew that soon enough she’d own two beautiful new daggers, by Arnbjorn’s hand. She set off after that to place her new dragon skull on the dresser by her bed- she’d find a better place for it later, this would work for now though. She also took the time to change into clean casuals when she was sure nobody was around, finding a black linen shirt and a pair of baggy black trousers fitting.

 

She was sitting in bed, taking time to relax and inspect the skull when none other than Cicero entered, most likely tipped off to her sudden arrival by the rather loud conversation between her and Arnbjorn. He peeked his head around the corner in curiosity, as if he’d been looking for where she’d gone, and upon her noticing him, stepped in with one more or less graceful sweep of his leg.

 

“Finny!” He exclaimed, mock surprise in his movements, swiftly bringing his hands together in a muffled clap. Her lips twitched, and he noticed it. He leaned over slightly, the tails of his motley hanging loose from his waist. Funny now, how he was the one to look down at her, whereas usually she stood taller than him- of course, when she was standing it was that way.

“Cicero hasn’t seen nor heard from you all day! Oh no, but he’s heard that you’ve quite certainly had your own adventure-” He flourished a hand at the skull, but stopped mid sentence, then did a double take, and settled his attention to it.

“Oh- _oh my._ So you did, in fact… _Huh._ ” His voice quieted, dumbfounded by what was obviously real, and sitting right in front of him.

“It is not like I killed it or anything, just found it, y’know. Discovered it surrounded by dead bodies. And then uh. Decided to rip it’s head off. Be...Because I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I came back empty handed.” She stuttered quickly, glancing between him and the skull. Cicero peered at her from the corner of his eye, carefully watching her expressions, searching for a glimmer of emotion. She didn’t seem to notice.

 

“And then Astrid, eh- lectured me about leaving without her permission when I got back. So that- that happened.” She added, a lot quieter, still monotone. Cicero felt rage bubble up in his stomach.

“She… **_what?_ ** ” He hissed. The tone and expression in his posture became venomous, dangerous, seething with hatred. Finn felt her skin crawl but tried to remain collected.

“I… I mean I did just leave early morning without announcing it beforehand- I was in the wrong here, I think? She was probably just... suspicious that I’d snuck out to betray us or abandon the family or something.” She added cautiously, realizing that she probably had been awfully rude to just up and disappear. Cicero scoffed, her words seemingly striking a nerve.

“In the wrong? You- I- No! No, you weren’t! We’re- we’re a family, of course, but you are not a child! Astrid is not your mother- nor anyone’s mother! She has no control over where you go unless she is assigning you a contract! Final! Point blank! Cicero- Cicero is outraged that she’d dare lecture you for making your own decisions! She is not the leader!” He seethed, but kept his voice low. Finn chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Is… Is it not normal for our leader to keep track of us at all times? And I thought she was the leader- we need one, right?” She inquired, tilting her head. She’d supposed that Astrid’s controlling nature was just how the Brotherhood was supposed to run. Business needed to be kept formal and punctual, after all.

“No! It is not- and she’s by no means an official matron of our Brotherhood- she’s neither Listener nor Keeper! We hardly even have a Black Hand! Cicero would say he’s more qualified, if that didn’t sound so egotistical coming straight from a _fool’s_ mouth. We may be an organization but heed my words Finn, we are not to be surveillanced constantly by that- that faker!” He snapped. Finn paused and went slack-jawed, trying to decipher what he meant. Her eyes betrayed that she was lost and confused, and Cicero saw this briefly, and backed off.

“Ah- Apologies, Finny. Cicero got carried away by his devotion and outrage. Forgive poor Cicero.” He tacked on the words with a defeated tone, but Finn could tell that rage smoldered beneath the surface. She set her lips and averted her eyes, deciding that staring at a skull was easier than looking at Cicero’s burning gaze.

 

Cicero saw this and felt the weirdest pang of guilt. She had no clue how deeply the Brotherhood’s Tenets and unspoken standards went, she didn’t deserve to be subjected to his rage- but he could teach her, educate her, deliver her the truth so that maybe, at least one agent of Sithis could see with eyes unclouded by lies. Would Cicero be in the wrong for doing such a thing? For saving his Brotherhood from the blasphemy of Astrid’s corrupted ways? He would have to contemplate this and weigh the consequences. For now, though- for his excitement betrayed his patience, he must push on to a topic much more important.

 

“Finn.” He spoke up. Her ears perked and she slowly returned her gaze to him- how adorable her ears were, so expressive where her face failed to be. Finn noticed how his voice was wavering, hesitant, as if he was apprehensive about something, both excited and reluctant to ask.

“Would you do this Fool of Hearts a favor- give to him your precious time- and meet Cicero in the heart of the Sanctuary after dinner? He would like to… test something.” He spoke carefully, intending to intrigue and captivate her attention with his vagueness. Leave her wondering and pondering.

Finn opened her mouth, then closed it, and nodded. She agreed, so wonderfully, Cicero could dance from elation!

 

“Wonderful, joyous! He will not waste your time, Cicero won’t! I promise you this will be worth your attention, truly.” He clapped his gloved hands excitedly, grinning like a Cheshire cat that got the cream. Finn flashed a tiny, tiny smile, letting her shoulders relax. He was back to his more lighthearted attitude, something that made her feel at ease.

“Well, then! Cicero bids you _adieu_. See you later, Finn!” He practically danced out of the room. She huffed and brushed hair out of her eyes, trying to stifle the dumb smile on her face.

 

Dinner would be interesting, she predicted.


	16. Whispers in the Dark

Dinner was cheerful, surprisingly. Finn was warmly welcomed and everyone seemed relieved to see her again. Everyone chattered happily and regaled in tales of their contracts, laughing and passing down brimming plates of grilled and buttered steaks, leeks, potatoes, and even mushrooms and cheeses, all thanks to Nazir, who had ever so masterfully prepared the meal.

 

Cicero had missed this kind of interaction and positivity, where everyone was lighthearted, sharing stories and food, in the true spirit of a family of assassins. It warmed his broken heart, and a true smile painted his face and flushed his cheeks pink. He’d of course made a point to sit across from Finn, a decision that awarded him with delight when she spoke up, recalling how she’d brutally murdered the bandit chief and then slit the throat of a Shatter-Shield girl as she slept, to which everyone applauded her prowess and envied her hoofpower.

 

She ate ravenously- she should have, anyways, she’d missed breakfast, but seeing such a woman who carried such a soft, light voice with an adorably husky accent take down food faster than a sabrecat still rattled him- Imperials in Cyrodiil were a little more refined and slow to eat their food, savoring the flavor- and those mannerisms had also worked their way into the other races that took residence there. Skyrim was a difference. Finn ate like a wolf packing for a journey, and he wasn’t sure if that was something that carried over from wherever she’d lived, or a new trait she’d picked up. Regardless, Arnbjorn was the only one who matched her in culinary consumption, taking a mouthful of steak straight from the chop. His werewolfish disposition was apparent, Cicero noted, wrinkling his nose slightly. He ate like he had been raised in a cave- or a pack of wolves, probably.

 

Cicero noted how Astrid seemed to stare at Finn intently, as if she hoped the woman would gaze her way- and then flickered her eyes over to Cicero, only to avert them quickly as if she were only surveying the table. She did this several times, and it made the jester uncomfortable. She was plotting something, he knew it. He slid his attention back to the rest of the table, and namely Finn.

 

“-the smoke burned my eyes like fire and I nearly tripped over it, but there it was, an entire dragon skeleton. Perfect condition, but it’s skin and scales- well, actually, everything spare for the bones were gone. Just absent, like something had cleaned it off- but there was still scraps on the wings and it’s body was still smoking hot- but no burns on the bones. At all. It’s as if everything just melted off in a blaze and left the bare bones behind.” Finn was recalling the dragon finding. Cicero noticed that Arnbjorn had stopped eating and was listening intently.

 

“I told you all this morning, it’s the Dragonborn. They’re most likely behind that- that’s probably what alerted the Greybeards, I bet.” He grunted, wiping grease from his beard. Finn squinted at her food.

“...Dragonborn?” She mumbled, picking at a chunk of fatty meat and popping it into her mouth. Arnbjorn grunted.

“Yes, legendary person born with the blood and soul of a dragon- It’s said that they can absorb the soul of a dragon upon it’s death. At least, that’s what I’ve heard and read.” He went silent once more, shoving more meat into his mouth.

“If you choke, I’m going to laugh. I’ve warned you before, Arnbjorn.” Nazir hummed, raising an eyebrow, but his words were met with a loud ‘mmMMMM’ from Arnbjorn. The table erupted in laughter once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Dinner finished with a pleasant tone, everyone joking around and helping clean plates and finish whatever food wasn’t eaten. Gabriella took a few steaks to toss over to Lis, the giant spider that resided within a pit in the sanctuary. Finn avoided the spider as much as she could, though she had no ill will against her. Finn was just terrified of spiders.

 

Cicero had disappeared, distracted by Babette pelting him with hundreds of questions. Finn stopped glancing around, disappointedly, and turned her attention to the dishes she was washing, but was quickly distracted when Astrid sidled up next to her and nudged her.

 

“I have a task for you.” She muttered. Finn narrowed her eyes and nodded, perking her ears to signal she was listening.

“Cicero has been acting… strange. I think there’s someone hiding in the coffin, I hear him talking to them late at night- a lot. Every night, actually. I need you to go hide in the heart of the sanctuary and eavesdrop on his conversation. He could be plotting something bad for all of us.” Her superior hissed.

Finn decided to not make a comment on as to why Astrid had been out listening for him every night, but there was a bad feeling and a seed of doubt in her heart. She liked Cicero, at least, as an acquaintance, for they were still in fact getting to know each other, despite their friendliness shown. She certainly wasn’t interested in pissing him off, or by proxy, anyone else who liked him. She wanted family and trust, not discomfort and weary glances.

 

“Astrid-” She spoke softly, just above a whisper.

“-I don’t intend on going against your orders- But I really don’t think Cicero means any harm. I was speaking to him last night- I couldn’t sleep and I think I woke him on accident, but he seemed- Look, I think he cares about the Brotherhood, certainly enough that I don’t think he’d do anything to endanger us.” Her eyes focused on the plate she was meticulously scrubbing, trying to wash the grime out of every crevice in the raised surfacework in the design.

“He’s absolutely mad, Finn. Has he been sweet talking you too?” Astrid’s tone was harsh and criticizing.

“No- I just-” Finn cut herself off and focused on scrubbing the dish harder.

“You just what? _Think_ you’re going to go against my orders because you _think_ he’s harmless enough? Because he acts nice to you? Do you know anything about him, or do you just _think_ he’s telling the truth and acting out of genuine feelings and not masking his true intentions?” She spoke harshly, and Finn almost seemed to wilt under her gaze.

“N-No-” She started, but Astrid cut her off.

“-Good, then you’re going to find out what he’s up to. I don’t like to be harsh, Finn, I really don’t, but I have to keep the safety and best interest of my sanctuary in mind. Look, I’ll even give you a bonus if you can get the coffin open without being caught by the muttering fool. Go on, while Babette has him distracted.” She urged, taking Finn’s dishes from her. The satyr squeezed her eyes shut momentarily, then started off for the heart of the sanctuary, steeling herself.

 

Cicero would never forgive her for this, she knew, but maybe Astrid was right. Maybe he was up to something, she was out doing contracts, he could have done or said anything within that time to rightfully make Astrid suspicious. What if he really was faking sincerity up until his grand finale, his ultimate betrayal?

 

Finn grit her teeth. No- she had to trust her own intuition and gut instinct, that’s the only thing she could trust nowadays. But she was so confused now, what did her instinct even say? She paused mid-step in an attempt to clear her thoughts and focus on what _she_ felt- but there was nothing. Static. That was not a good sign. She swallowed roughly and slipped into the heart- the familiar soft glow of the candles reflecting off of the large, beautiful stained glass window that overlooked the main hall of the sanctuary, and her coffin- the Night Mother’s, as the centerpiece, decorated freshly with incense, red candles, and wreaths of nightshade, snowberries, and lavender. Cicero was certainly very thorough with his rituals, and his arrangements were intricate and regal- Finn didn’t have to check for intruders to know he was dedicated in his work. She sank to a crouch to stare at the wreaths, some old memory stirring- a shrine, a grave, intricately woven wreaths of flowers, candles, and leaf lanterns arranged in patterns that meant something so personal to only her and another. Something scraped a raw spot and she withdrew quickly from the memory, shuddering and swallowing a bitter old feeling- sadness, bittersweet sadness.

 

Her eyes wandered upward, studying the coffin before her that she stood, crouched at, position sinking into a one-knee bow. It was a subconscious movement, but it felt right- it made her feel a sense of loyalty and warmth. She scanned every detail- noticing quickly that Cicero had left the coffin unlocked- did it have something to do with him wanting to speak to her? Or was someone in there? She stood straight up and reached to open the coffin- but hesitated.

 

“I… I’m sorry, Mother, forgive me for this.” She breathed, as if it would justify her cause, and then flung the coffin open.

There was nothing. No living person, only an ancient corpse of a Dunmer woman, dried but preserved perfectly. Finn felt her heart stop momentarily for some reason, but had no idea why. The body didn’t reek- no, it smelled softly of wildflowers- Skyrim wildflowers, as well as hints of lavender, masking the barely detectable scent of preservative mixture. It was cool, cold, welcoming, it soothed her, and most of all, it was familiar, though she couldn’t place how or why. She took a step back, her heart sinking. She was right, or so she thought, there was nobody conspiring with Cicero. For some reason, she felt burdened with guilt for defiling the sanctity of the coffin. She reached forward again, now attempting to close the coffin, when that same fuzzy feeling hit her with the force of an oncoming carriage, freezing her in her tracks, her hand only barely gracing the iron doors. The thick, freezing sludge filled her head and oozed down her spine, and she nearly toppled straight into the corpse.

 

 **_“I find your reluctance and guilt… endearing, my dear. You certainly care more than you let on to, I’d know. You have no need to apologize to me.”_ ** A voice was clear, rasping, but welcome and comforting, buzzing through the entirety of her mind. Finn’s legs felt weak. She moved her mouth to speak, but no words came.

 **_“Speak to me with your mind, my child. I need not to hear your spoken word, your mind will reveal all to me. Do not fret.”_ ** Finn felt the icy grip recede, and though she could not see or acknowledge the living world, she could think- in a limited sense. There was no thought, only the instance of words that flowed- no reasoning or logic. Just her internal voice. It was as if she’d been pulled into a void, the room around her was gone, or merely faint and transparent, shrouded by darkness, as if all light had been snuffed out. The coffin and corpse in front of her glowed and warped in her vision, the only clear and apparent thing her eyes could focus on.

 

 _What are you?_ She thought.

 

 **_“I am the mother, of course, The Night Mother. You, who have opened my coffin- Finn, most troubled, my daughter. I have seen your pain. I have seen your struggles. You, my sweet, sweet daughter, so gentle, so fierce, I have chosen you.”_ ** The soothing voice filled every inch of her mind, lulling her into an old, comforted feeling of the embrace of a maternal figure, comforting their child.

 

_Chosen Me?_

  
**_“Yes, chosen you. Chosen you, to be my mouth. You are my Listener, you, who hath walked upon tired hooves and tangled your soul with us before. You may not remember, but I never forget. You are the one. You will lead them and restore them.”_ **

 

_I... couldn't. I mean no disrespect- I could never be qualified for such a position- I, I couldn’t even save- I wouldn't be able lead or protect my siblings. Cicero is more worthy, he’s so dedicated to you, or maybe- maybe Festus, he's old and knows far more than I do- even Astrid would be a better, safer option than anything I could do._

 

 **_“No. Cicero, sweet, humble Cicero, he is my loyal servant, but he is not the one, not in this lifetime, this universe. As for... Astrid... she walks another path, as does everyone. This one is yours, Finn, forged from the fire and loss you’ve suffered. This is a blessing, to take with dignity. I trust you, but you must have faith in yourself.”_ ** The Mother’s words flooded a feeling through Finn- confidence, determination? She didn't even realize her response until after she'd already thought it.

 

_What am I to do?_

 

 **_“Go, journey to Volunruud. Speak with the man who calls himself Amaund Motierre. He will have a momentous job for you and your siblings. It will be a trial, a test to all of you of your strength and perseverance.”_ ** She fell silent momentarily, then spoke again.

 **_“Tell Cicero the words. Darkness Rises when Silence Dies. He will understand- and you will be forgiven.”_ ** Finn felt a tiny rush of relief to those assurances, but had no mind to contemplate why. The Night Mother’s grip was fading, and she once more was overcome with the feeling of sludge and sluggishness, as her vision blurred out completely.

 

 _“Finn!”_  A voice hissed, barely audible.

  


“FINN! YOU ANIMAL! AWAY FROM THE COFFIN! YOU- DEFILER!” A voice shrieked, shattering the tranquility. Finn was confused, and sluggish, but before she could move, she was rushed, arms wrapping around her roughly and dragging her back away from the coffin- and throwing her against one of the pews, knocking the wind from her chest.

 

“CICERO KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING OFF ABOUT YOU! DEBASER, DEFILER!” He drew his dagger before Finn could even speak a word in defense- so she recoiled and covered her vitals in terror clearly shining through. A hole had broken in the hide, and she now cowered in deep fear from the man who threatened to strike her. This only fueled Cicero’s adrenaline surge- she showed emotion! He terrified her!

“You- You give Cicero ONE GOOD REASON why he shouldn’t have you flayed and quartered right here!” He snarled, intending to set himself upon her like a furious wolf.

Finn tried to gather her scrambled thoughts, attempting to justify the situation and Cicero’s actions- to no avail, so instead she did the next instinctive thing.

“Darkness Rises when Silence Dies! Darkness Rises when Silence Dies! D- Dark- Oh- by Sithis! Darkness Rises when Silence Dies!” She shrieked, finding herself unable to speak any other words. Cicero, instantly and almost comedically, recoiled, dropping his dagger with an outraged, horrified gasp.

 

“YOU-! You- Oh my gods, oh my gods- She spoke to you?! She spoke! She spoke to you!” He cried frantically, gripping his hat, ripping it off his head and throwing it on the ground, twirling on his heels with a weird, elated shout.

“The Binding Words! Written in the Keeping Tomes! THE TOMES! The signal so I would know! Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero!! SHE’S BACK! SHE’S RETURNED TO US! SHE’S CHOSEN YOU! YOU, FINN! YOU ARE LISTENER! YOU'RE THE LISTENER?!” He cried out, laughing frantically and dancing wildly as if he was on fire. Finn was confused, and namely, terrified.

“ALL- HAIL- THE LISTENER!!” He shrieked, only to be cut short as Astrid and the rest of the brotherhood kicked in the doors, weapons drawn.

 

“ENOUGH! By Sithis, this ends now! Back away from her, Cicero! Whatever treachery you’ve been plotting is over! Where's the accomplice? Reveal yourself, traitor! Surrender immediately!” Astrid roared, fierce as a bear. Cicero stumbled backwards, towards the coffin with a yelp of dismay.

“Treachery!?” He started, only for Finn to scramble to her hooves and move to stand in front of him. Everything had clicked now, there was a big misunderstanding here that she needed to resolve. She swallowed her terror and tried to recollect herself.

 

“No! There wasn’t anything! I-” She interjected, only to be cut short.

“Cicero committed no such thing! You accuse him of being a traitor?! He has only spoken at the Night Mother!” The jester cried, looking legitimately betrayed, then gestured wildly at Finn.

“Our Mother never replies to Cicero- but here! Here! She has spoken to Finn! She has told Finn the words! Finn is our listener, siblings! SHE WAS CHOSEN!” His voice threatened to go hoarse from screaming, and Finn covered her ears.

 

“She- Wait- Finn what- Listener? What the fuck are you going on about, you crazy loon?!” Astrid stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded, sheathing her weapon. Everyone else followed suit in near unison- but remained silent with shock.

“It's true, it's true! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen!" Cicero chanted, once more breaking into wild, excited dancing. Moon-Eye frantically moved over to calm him, patting him with a panicked expression, while Astrid approached Finn.

 

“Care to explain what the _fuck_ is going on? What did you do?! I thought I had explicitly told you not to get caught?!” She hissed. Finn moved her open palms up in a defensive posture.

“Okay- Okay- Bear with me, I’ll fill you in.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

And she did, recalling what had happened- though leaving out some details of her conversation with the Unholy Matron. Cicero had quieted, now listening intently with Moon-Eye’s hand on his shoulder. Astrid was deathly silent, looking shaken- and nearly furious by the end of Finn’s recount.

 

“I… I need time to think on all of this. This is too much at once. You will not go to Volunruud until I’ve given you explicit permission, do you understand? You will be punished severely if you go against my orders.” She snapped, and Finn, wanting to avoid any more shouting, nodded meekly, her eyes glancing over to Cicero, who was now looking exceptionally furious.

 

And with that, she turned on her heels and left.

 

Everyone else stayed, milling around for a bit, asking Finn questions until Cicero cleared his throat and complained of the room being much too crowded, mostly an attempt to give Finn space now that the weight of his actions were sinking in. Everyone slowly dispersed.

 

And then there were two. Finn stood in silence, watching Babette saunter out of the room, the last one to leave. Cicero stood behind her. He attempted to make small talk, firstly, and awkwardly.

“Cicero still can’t believe this, but oh, he can! I have served mother well, and my servitude has ended! I am allowed to serve as an assassin again! Oh- but no one else knows how to care for her- tsk tsk. Maybe Cicero will still have to be Keeper… But she chose you… You, you’re the Listener. You- Oh- Oh… no.” His face suddenly turned to one of horror as the full blunt force of what he’d done to her sunk in. She turned to face him- to be surprised by him throwing himself to his knees in front of her.

“By Sithis, please, forgive poor, treacherous Cicero for harming you! I- He was- I was so furious- I thought you intended to destroy the corpse- Cicero could not have that, no, he could not! Could you ever, ever find it in your heart to forgive a fool? I’ve made such a grievous mistake, Mother must surely be furious with hasty Cicero’s actions!” He whimpered, fidgeting under her gaze. He’d finally served his purpose- Only to throw his newly appointed Listener against a bench in a fit of misguided rage! Oh, how much of a total buffoon he’d made of himself!

 

Finn sighed, unresponsive, sitting down on a bench- a mistake. In the events of today, she’d forgotten about the chronic pains that bothered her when she stood static for long periods of time. White hot pain shot up her spine, attacking her hips and lower back with a fiery inferno of agony. She gasped and leaned over, clutching at her back with an agonized expression. Cicero felt cold terror wrench his gut. He had hurt her. Truly his mother would be _furious_ with him now.  

 

“Oh, sssshit- Oh, no no no- Cicero is so sorry, so sorry Finn! oh Sithis- Ohhh, our Mother is going to have my hide for this-” He moved to help her, to try to figure out what was hurt, but Finn waved a hand dismissively with a groan.

“That wasn’t your doing, I’m fine, this happens. Give me a minute.” She hissed, squeezing her eyes shut. Cicero withdrew his hands into a raptor-like position, worriedly hovering around her. ‘This happens’? This was normal to her? Anxiety plagued his thoughts and something nagged at the back of his mind. You did this! You did this! It laughed, reveling in Cicero’s terrified misery.  

 

But Finn was fine. She sat up straight again, slowly, rubbing her back, then exhaled through her teeth and opened her eyes.

“I’m okay now, don’t worry. I promise it was nothing you did, I’ve survived worse.” Her tone was sharp, urging him to drop the topic, but he still fretted. Despite this, he held his tongue. The satyr turned away from him momentarily to close her eyes again and gather herself, and then turned back.

 

“I’m. The Listener. I… She’ll speak to me again, right?” She asked, changing the subject.

Cicero deadpanned, then laughed nervously, wringing his hands.

“You- You’re joking, right? Surely you jest.” He hummed, bouncing on the heels of his boots.

Finn shook her head.

“ _Oh._ Well- of course the she’ll speak to you again...  She might speak now, or later, or… Oh, I don't know! But speak she will! The Night Mother is part of you now! What an honor you’ve been gifted...” He breathed, smiling dreamily. Finn felt herself start to relax now that his demeanor had lightened and he seemed to be back to his usual self… Well, if that truly was usual. She still wasn’t sure what to think of him now, after what had happened and the things Astrid had said. Making matters worse, another nagging thought pressed forward. Oh, dear. She should have realized this sooner, with how he acted being so apparent. Maybe he was mad at her, or jealous- after all, he had dedicated time and effort to taking care of his mother, right? 

 

“Cicero… Did.. Did you wish to be the Listener?” Her question was soft and cautious. Cicero froze, a lost, slightly scared frown passing over his features.

"Oh... Well... yes. I did. I did indeed. I tried to listen- Tried so hard. But the Night Mother never spoke to poor Cicero. The silence became almost... maddening.” His voice wavered in a dangerous mix of nervous glee, maybe anger? It was tense, loaded as if he could explode. Finn frowned and contemplated comforting him, but before she could- Cicero’s expression snapped to cheerful in an instant.

“Oh, but that was then! This is now! You're the Listener, and the Night Mother chose you for a reason, I'm sure! Cicero will remain the happy Keeper." He smiled widely, but something uncomfortable still squirmed in Finn’s gut. Guilt? Maybe. She was feeling a lot of things today, it was becoming overwhelming. When Cicero had threatened her, it had shifted something loose and allowed her to lower some wall that blocked her from freely experiencing emotions- one that subconsciously, she’d been frantic to rebuild, though she didn’t know why she was internally persistent on blocking out any semblance of feeling. Did she want to feel or not? Maybe trying to smooth things over would help ease her mind… Though she was now slightly terrified of Cicero- or at least, what he was capable of. Justifying the situation was hard- Cicero shouldn’t have reacted as he had- but then again, he was loyal to his mother over her. Finn was still more of an acquaintance than a friend, and Cicero was willing to kill to defend his mother, and reasonably so, as he’d supposedly seen the fall of the other sanctuaries. If they were the last, she would have to agree that the rampant suspicion and paranoia was justified. Then again… She sighed.

 

“I’m... sorry that I scared you like that, really. I don’t know what came over me, I shouldn’t have been touching our Mother’s coffin without permission like I had been, it did feel… rude, and disgraceful.” She decided not to mention Astrid’s involvement, to spare herself and everyone from another conflict.

“It’s all okay! The Night Mother has her reasons that I will never understand- Cicero was wrong to hurt you, he overreacted. I- I’m sorry, Finn.” He sighed, sitting next to her. Finn didn’t flinch, thankfully, moreso taken by surprise at his suddenly mellow, embarrassed demeanor. Did he really mean that? She decided to let the incident go this time- she had no heart to hold a grudge.

“It’s… It’s okay. You’re forgiven...” She didn’t mention the terror that had been clearly painted on her face when he’d first threatened her. She dropped it, though the memory of her face would haunt and taunt Cicero for time to come, of how furious and quick to attack he had been, nearly injuring- possibly killing, a Dark Sibling, had he lost control.

 

Silence. Cicero shifted uncomfortably. Finn contemplated talking further. He was the Keeper, he’d certainly have her answers. Cicero opened his mouth to speak but Finn was quicker.

 

“I don’t know what to do now. She told me she was so sure of me, so confident in my abilities but I just… I’m not that- I don’t know if I’m truly what she’s expecting. I don’t want to disappoint- I don’t want to disappoint anyone.” Her eyes averted.

“She chose you for a reason we don’t see or understand, but obviously she knows that you’re capable- And Cicero would never doubt her choices or reasoning, of course. She’s on a level beyond us, in foresight and knowledge. Cicero believes you’re capable enough, surely? But you’re so quick to doubt yourself- why is that?” He pressed. Finn became defensive instantly.

“I’d rather not say.” Was her brisk answer. Cold! He pursed his lips.

“Fair enough.” Cicero mumbled. She’d tell him, in time, he hoped. Now that she was Listener, he felt obligated to regard her with a higher level of respect- he’d wanted to be her friend anyways, but now he really, really desired to be on good terms with her. Listener and Keeper should stick together, right? Despite the rough, embarrassing start… Though this reasoning was only a coverup for his desire for emotional intimacy- he craved friendship, in it’s honesty and genuine feeling. Finn was the first person he’d really felt like he’d have the chance making that connection with- so naturally, he latched onto her, not clingy, or annoying, but if he had to talk to someone, she was his first choice.  He only hoped and prayed that his actions hadn’t severed that possibility permanently. That would be… He didn’t wish to think of it, being on bad terms with the Listener herself, or at least having the Listener be scared of him- though that kind of power sounded nice in any other context- it only sounded wrong, shameful, and horrible in the company of Finn.

 

As for Finn herself- she was mulling over what to do now. She had more contracts, but now after everything that’s happened… She didn’t want to go alone, or go at all, and she didn’t like the idea of leaving Cicero’s company when she was so newly appointed Listener- paranoia of failure made her feel small against such a large mantle to fill and wear. She had no clue how to behave as a Listener, or what she was doing, and moreso the sanctuary was full of suspicion after the jester’s outburst- or, at least, Astrid was, but Astrid could most likely sew seeds of doubt in after today’s events. Not that Cicero was helpless, obviously- Was it just that Finn needed company? She was so confused. Maybe she could ask Gabriella to… no, Gabriella was busy, she had mentioned having a contract tonight. Finn weighed the options, and then turned to Cicero. Why did she keep coming back to him? It was his company mostly, how friendly he seemed to be, especially how he’d been like this since the first time she met him- the other assassins regarded her with contempt or standoffishness upon first meeting, some even looking down upon her, inadvertently making a clear impression that they were no more than coworkers to her, and she supposed that created an emotional rift to her personally, one that dissuaded her from attempting to get too cozy with them as she was willing to be with Cicero. Speaking of which…

 

“Cicero, Nazir told me earlier that he had more contracts for me- Maybe if you wanted… you could accompany me, and tell me more about the duties of being a Listener? You did say you were free to go about your original duties now-” She trailed, and Cicero took the cue.

“-Not that Astrid would ever want to assign Cicero to a contract. I'd love to accompany you!” He was quick to answer, excitement shining in his eyes. Finn relaxed.

 

Maybe her attempts to build a form of friendship would be to her advantage, she hoped, though something deep inside knew that she needed this more to help heal the scars of being alone and unable to trust for so long- She needed desperately for someone she could rely on for companionship and emotional support, even if it meant relying on a man who was half-mad- though he was good company and a kindly entertainer, and his mental state had no bearing on how she should perceive him as a person and personality- She just wanted to know him better, in the full of it.

 

“That’s… that’s nice. I’m exhausted from today, so I think I’ll approach Nazir tomorrow about the contracts and we can go. Maybe Astrid will appreciate some time to cool down with both of us out of her hair.” She joked awkwardly.

 

“Oh, of course! Get some rest, Finn, you deserve it! Cicero will see you tomorrow, yes, tomorrow! Oh, I’m so _excited…”_ He chattered, waving Finn goodbye as she stood once more and exited the room.

Cicero turned and spared no time closing and locking the coffin doors. He would be careful now, yes… more careful. Only he should be allowed to gaze upon his dear mother… Finn may be Listener, but she was still yet to prove herself- her loyalty. The encounter had shaken his faith in her slightly, making him wary of presenting his mother to her. However… He dared not stand in the way of her position or attempt to usurp and disrupt the sacred duty of Listener- no matter how much it stung that he wasn’t chosen.

“Goodnight, Mother. And… Thank you.” He hummed quietly, a strange, solemn calmness overtaking his face. He offered no explanation for his words, instead exiting the room and preparing for bed.

 

He’d dream of pleasant things that night, for once, things that smelled of wildflowers and offered soft emotional comforts to his aching soul, of warm embraces that felt as if they would heal him and absolve him of his burdens.

  
  
  



	17. Accompanied by Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song she's singing in this chapter is absolutely a Kingston Trio reference lmao :Y  
> Is it outdated and cliche to add a lyric/singing chapter? Idk 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTXARg3wP1g

“You’re to kill Hern, a man who runs Half-Moon Mill. You may have seen it, it’s up the road from here, not far. His wife will be home. Killing her isn’t required, but you may have to do it if the situation comes to it.” Nazir had said upon being greeted by Finn after breakfast, who had requested more contracts. It was around 6:30 AM, an early breakfast for a busy day.

“You’re also going to be killing a nobleman… In fact, a little more than that. You’re to kill Erikur, the Thane of Solitude. Usually I would have assigned such a task to Veezara or Moon-Eye, but Veezara has sprained his ankle this morning- and Moon-Eye refuses to leave his side. I’m going to trust that you can handle this contract instead, sister.” He sighed, scrubbing a bowl clean. 

“Okay, I can do that, but is there anything I need to know about him in particular? Your tone suggests there’s more to this.” Finn questioned, caution in her voice. 

“There… is. The person who hired us explicitly instructed that his death is to be made to look like a suicide- another reason why I’ve taken my chances with you, seeing that you’ve managed to pull that off before- despite being on a little different terms. She’s given us a letter that she wishes to have placed on his body, so it’s up to you to make this look like a convincing suicide. Another thing- this man supposedly has a… erm.  _ ‘Thing’  _ for Bosmeri women. If you think you can use that to your advantage, by all means, do so- though I don’t know if originating from the same province is gonna cut you much slack in fooling him.” 

 

Finn nodded thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Nazir. Oh- and I’m letting Cicero accompany for these contracts, if that’s all right. Could you tell Astrid that after I leave? I kinda thought that it would help ease the tension if Astrid and him aren’t butting heads while I’m not here to negotiate.” She joked, earning an amused snort from Nazir. 

“I’ll let Astrid know once you’ve left- I understand you not wanting to confront her yourself, at least not now. You’re smart for letting her calm down and sort this out. I like that, you know how to choose your battles.” He complimented, and Finn scuffed a hoof against the stone. 

“Oh, sheesh, I’m just trying to avoid trouble. I’m not much of a good assassin when my boss has my head on a plate for upsetting her.” She shot back, and Nazir laughed. 

“Get on then, Finn, I’ll see you when you’re back and bloodied with tales of your latest murders, right?” He asked, stacking plates and storing them in the cabinet. Finn nodded and waved him farewell, exiting the kitchen. Now she had to find Cicero. 

  
  


Which wasn’t hard, considering he was, predictably, in the heart of the sanctuary, a full bag in hand, paying the Night Mother his farewells and promising to return soon. 

 

“You ready to go? We’ve got two contracts.” She greeted him warmly, buckling the loose straps on her armor. 

_ “We? _ ” Cicero piped up suddenly, focusing his full attention to her with a surprised look in his eyes. 

“Yes,  _ we.  _ I know Astrid isn’t gonna give you contracts or let Nazir hand some to you but that isn’t gonna stop you- or me. Besides! You’re far more experienced than I am, it’d be kind of nice to see you work, or at least give me advice, if you wanted to.” She offered softly. 

“Cicero would be honored to give pointers to the Listener! Oh, I’m so overjoyed! We should be on our way then. Oh-! Wait, give Cicero a minute.” He dropped his bag and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Finn to scuff her hooves awkwardly on the stone, glancing at the closed coffin. 

“Uh… Hello, ma.” She mumbled sheepishly. Silence.

“I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your Keeper... “ She continued, averting her eyes to the floor. No response. 

“R...Right, You’ll probably talk to me when you need to.” She sat on a bench with a soft grunt. 

 

She heard Cicero before she saw him, muttering curses frustratedly down the hall. 

“Gods damned old leather- haven’t touched it in a while and now it’s forgotten poor Cicero’s shape. So disrespectful, tsk tsk. Oh- hm, that strap is worn. Better remember to have that fixed- FINNY! I’M READY!” She jolted when he raised his voice, watching as he stumbled into the room- missing his usual motley. 

He was wearing the customary brotherhood armor- but obviously Cyrodillian, seeing that it lacked as much red as the Skyrim counterpart- it was almost entirely black, with a few areas of trim that offered a faded brown-red or the dulled silver of a buckle or two. Something black was tucked under his arm. He fussed over a bracer as he struggled to buckle it, but finally succeeded, then produced the dark item tucked under his arm, shaking it out and throwing it around his shoulders- it was a cloak, black as the void, complete with a hood that semi-shrouded his armor. He notably kept the hood off, letting his hair settle loosely over it as he pulled it free from under the cloak. 

“My motley is wonderful, and truly a trademark Cicero thing, but- as Cicero has come to discover- not very handy for contracts and danger in skyrim. And a little chilly to wear. Oh, I haven’t worn these in so long! Was a little afraid that they would no longer fit. Oh, but they do! Just… a little stiff… and tight… Needs to get used to me again. The cloak is still in fine condition though! Just as black as ever, mm- but it smells like-” He paused, burying his nose in the deep black fabric. 

 

“-Llllllavender! It’s lavender, see? Take a sniff.” He strode towards her and offered her a corner of the cloak, pushing it to her face. Finn’s nose twitched. 

“Huh. You’re right.” She mumbled, muffled by the fabric. Cicero pulled away with an accomplished, proud expression. 

“Something probably spilled on it while it spent so long in Cicero’s old bag of tricks. It’s an improvement, I’d say.” He giggled cheerfully. 

“Anyways- Where and who are we sending to the void today? Oh, Cicero is so happy to be able to serve his brotherhood again! ” He chattered, reaching to lift his bag and sling it over his shoulder. Finn stood from the bench, stretching. 

“There’s a man up the road at the Half-Moon Mill named Hern, he’s close by, though. We’ve got a bigger task in Solitude. We’re going to kill a Thane.” There was definitely pride hinting in her voice, Cicero swore there was. Or maybe it was him projecting his hopes? He wasn’t sure. Regardless, he was excited at the news. 

“A Thane?! How much talking did you do to get this contract?” He pressed. 

“None, surprisingly. Veezara hurt himself on accident so the honor was passed to me- well, that and Nazir says that he thinks I’m qualified for the specific terms of this kill. I’m not sure how this is gonna pan out when we get there. Maybe we can collaborate on this one.” She shrugged. 

“Oh, wonderful! Which are we doing first? Hern on the way, or Hern on the way back?” Cicero rocked on his heels restlessly, excited to get going. 

“Eh, figured we’d get him on the way back, if that works with you. He’d probably not going anywhere, he sounded like a boring guy.” She grunted, making her way to exit the room. Cicero followed right up behind her, then moved to fall alongside her, matching her pace and only falling back to fit through doorways. 

 

“Going for the best one first, then?! Oh, you’re just like I used to be, so eager to do the fun ones! Cicero couldn’t bear quell your excitement, he’d be a hypocrite, then.” He was babbling excitedly, immersed completely in giving his undivided attention to his new Listener. Finn couldn’t help but relax her shoulders and flash a tiny smile. 

 

Cicero only fell silent when they neared and passed Astrid’s room, instinctively attempting to avoid being detected by her. He could see the way Finn stiffened and made an effort to walk quietly and made note of it. Walking on eggshells, it was! Peh! Cicero would spit upon her doorway with contempt if it wasn’t for that being a disrespectful action. He respected the brotherhood, but his respect for Astrid was fast dwindling, especially now that Finn was showing obvious caution around her. The Listener, reduced to fearing the authority of a lesser assassin! Embarrassing! Disgraceful! 

 

They made it outside in silence, and then Finn clicked her tongue loudly. Cicero flinched, glancing around. 

“Why are you doing that?! We’ll be detected if there are bypassers!” He hissed, pressing close to her with a wildly confused look in his eyes. 

“We’ll be fine, I’m just calling Snowy.” Cicero fell silent, a fuzzy feeling in his throat. She really did keep the name! 

“Where’d you say you kept your horse? We can ride to her and then go from there.” She hummed absentmindedly, looking up at the canopy of trees. 

“Not necessary, but thank you! Cicero found a place to keep her across the road.” He gestured, starting up the hill and onto the stone path, only to be met by both Finn’s horse and his own, who had heard Finn’s call and started on their way to find them. 

“Oh- Well, here they are.” He laughed softly, turning back to see Finn emerging from the bushes and onto the road. 

 

Cicero scrambled up onto his mare’s back and shifted himself, getting used to the feeling of a saddle between his legs once more. Finn quickly clambered onto her mare’s saddle and spun her in a half circle. 

“Alrighty, Solitude, here we come.” Finn called to him, and started off under the shade of a thousand trees.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  


They were halfway across Whiterun Hold’s plains, nearing 8 AM when Cicero moved his horse closer to Finn’s, straining to hear her voice- He thought she was talking to him, but she wasn’t. She was humming, to his surprise. Her tail even swayed to the hoofsteps of her horse- her whole body seemed to assimilate to an undefined flow of movement of her mare. It was as if they were a part of each other, almost. Cicero fidgeted, playing with his mare’s mane, though he could not feel the texture through his gloves. His gaze flickered out across the plains, watching the distant silhouette of Giants and their Mammoths, migrating across the plains. To or from their camp, he didn’t know. The mountains framed the scene of rolling grasses and shades of bleached gold, interrupted only by stone ruins and small pools of water. Skyrim was certainly beautiful, though it wasn’t the Great Forest of Cyrodiil or the lush greenery- it was still unique. He felt grateful that he had the honor of accompanying Finn, because it was thus far providing him a better view of the province he was making his new home. His gaze eventually wandered back to Finn- or well, the back of Finn, her neck and hair. There were those scars again. Burn scars that covered the back of her neck, peeking from the collar of her armor. He had half a mind to ask her about them, but refrained- That would be rude. If she wanted to tell him, it would be on her own decision. 

 

So he’d ask her about something else instead, desperate for conversation. 

 

“Finnnnnnn… Do you, by chance, sing? Have experience with bards?” He asked sweetly, leaning over his horse’s neck. Finn seemed to jump slightly at the question, disrupting the flow she had going. 

“Oh- Well… Yes, I do sing… Not much though, not anymore. Don’t have time or the right place to sing. Never interacted with bards, though.” She replied simply. 

“Oh, goody! Now could be a good time! Do you remember any songs you could sing on the road? A traveling song, maybe? That is, if you wouldn’t mind letting Cicero hear your voice. It’s up to you!” He smiled warmly, but he hoped she would be willing. Finn was hesitant, her eyes scanning the road in front of them. They weren’t quite near Rorikstead yet, so maybe… 

“I… Want to, but I don’t have an instrument to play, I don’t think I’d sound good with my voice alone.” She offered nervously. Cicero laughed, not quite picking up on her hesitance. 

“Nonsense! Cicero is sure you would do fine without the melody of a lute. It would be nice to have something to listen to while we ride.” He complimented sweetly, praying that she’d spare a glance back at poor, sweet Cicero. 

 

“Ah… If you say so, but I warned you.” She joked, earning a giggle from Cicero. 

“Well, I got one I’ve actually been working on- I kinda uh… wrote it myself. I overheard a Nord talking at a tavern and his words stood out enough for me to dwell on it. I guess they were relatable.” She giggled embarrassedly. Cicero shivered, averting his gaze. She had giggled, and it was… something. It was… adorable? Endearing? She was letting herself loosen up around him, maybe she did like him? Enough to consider him a friend? He hoped this was so. 

“Cicero uh… I’d love to hear it.” He stammered, softer this time, still shaken. 

 

“Oh, well… ok, then, ah…” She cleared her throat softly, setting her eyes on the landscape. Her heart was… hammering, for some reason- with apprehension? Anxiety? Maybe she had form of stage fright, though she would never let Cicero see this. What happened to her stone cold exterior? The wall she’d worked to hide her emotions? It was gone now, and she wasn’t sure why. The clownish Imperial waited attentively for her voice to carry to him. Finn inhaled quietly. 

 

“Well- no matter, where I’ve wandered, I know I'll always find a welcome- 

At the end of every journey-

There'll be friendly people waitin'-

 

Cyrodiil, she, could not hold me, 'though I loved her timber mountains-

Worked her fields- and worked her orchards,

up and down her central valley…” 

 

Cicero was taken aback at how her accent carried into her voice- though he could not gather the words to describe it- even less how she sounded in whole- but it was good. It was soft, it was… welcoming. He shivered once more, staring out at the plains as they traveled, listening to how she punctuated her words, how her hands clapped against her armor to simulate a drumbeat. 

 

“I have ridden, open highway, through the golden Riften valley and I-

watched the rivers, gently gliding, I wave my hand to friendly people, ah-

 

Cyrodiil, she, could not hold me, 'though I loved her timber mountains-

Worked her fields! -and worked her orchards,

up and down her central valley!” 

 

Her singing was more confident now, getting into the excitement of raising her voice to the Skyrim winds and letting it carry. Several times her voice even reached a peak, shouting to punctuate her lines. Cicero grinned widely, finding the rhythm even despite the lack of instruments, swaying on his saddle to the sound of her voice carrying clear and strong, though still thick and full of her smoky accent. 

 

“Folks who know me, call me-a drifter. 

They don't know I'll stop my ramblin'-

They don't know that someday-!

-Somewhere somebody's gonna make me settle down!

 

I'm going home, Gods, I'm- I’m going home!

I'm going home, Gods, I'm- I’m going home!

 

Well- no matter, where I wander, I know I'll always find a welcome- 

At! the end of every journey-

There'll be friendly people waitin'...”

 

The rhythm slowed to a more bouncy ramble of the previous lines, signaling the conclusion of the song- though Cicero wished it wouldn’t end- he could get lost listening to her voice, even if she were to belt out the lyrics of ‘99 Bottles of Mead’ or some Nordic garbage like that. 

 

“Cyrodiil, she, could not hold me, 'though I loved her timber mountains-

Worked her fields! -and worked her orchards,

up and down her central valley… 

 

Gods, know, I’m home!” 

 

Her voice hit a rise, swelled, increasing in pitch and volume, and then concluded with her ending the song with a soft laugh. A real laugh! She was happy, excited maybe? Cicero shuddered with excitement and cheered out joyfully. 

 

“So wonderful! So wonderful! You do have such a talent! Both with your words and your voice! Oh, how Cicero wishes he had a voice like that!” He cried, clapping his gloved hands and nearly spooking his horse. Finn had almost forgotten that he was listening, lost in the rush from being able to sing freely. Her ears burned hot and red. 

 

“Y’think so? I- I mean, Thank you!” She stammered, now clearly flustered even if Cicero couldn’t see her face. 

“Cicero knows so! Yes, he does! Truly wonderful, If you weren’t such a wonderful assassin and our Listener, I’d suggest you to the Bard’s College in Solitude!” He laughed gleefully. Finn rolled her shoulders and made a flustered, breathy laugh. 

 

Cicero had listened intently to the lyrics but, now he was truly dwelling on them. He wasn’t sure how much were the words she claimed belonged to the Nord, and how many were her own- It was a puzzling mystery, and he couldn’t clearly draw any conclusions about her from them. Frustrating, in the slightest. More mysteries. Well, they had a while to Solitude, and Cicero was sure they wouldn’t be able to complete the contract until tomorrow by the time they got there- Finn sounded like she intended to ride the whole way without stopping to rest anywhere or breaking their journey in segments. This would be his time to talk. His time to get to know her. He had so many nagging questions and he wasn’t sure which were appropriate to ask and which weren’t- He huffed softly and crossed his arms, trying to figure out what he wanted to ask. 

 

“Finn- Are there, perhaps, more of you- well, not you, but uh, your… race?” He blurted. It was now or never, nobody got answers from remaining silent. Finn seemed to freeze up momentarily. 

“I… I don’t know the answer to that one, actually. There were.” She answered softly. Cicero rode closer, moving to have his horse walk alongside hers so he could hear her better. 

“Wherever they are now, I certainly haven’t seen any. That’s all I’ll say.” She mumbled.

 

Cicero dropped the topic, sensing the sudden damper on the mood. Still… what if she was the last and she didn’t even know it? Would she want to know that? Maybe not, sometimes they say ignorance is bliss, though Cicero never quite understood that one. He wanted to know everything! Being nosy was the least of his concerns, he was an assassin. Knowing things got his contracts completed. He turned his head back to the mountains in the distance. Maybe he should talk about something easier for her. The silence was awkward, anyways, filled only by shod hoofbeats clattering against stone. Finn didn’t seem bristly towards further conversation, or so she seemed, but the topic had put her off a bit. 

 

“What’s your opinion of Skyrim? Cicero thinks it’s quite beautiful- oh, despite the cold. Brrrh. Yeah, Cicero still hasn’t gotten used to that part.” He kep his gaze on the plains as they neared Rorikstead. 

“To be honest- Skyrim wasn’t really my first choice, especially when I heard how cold it was. I was kind of wanting to try High Rock, I’ve heard it could be nice- I was planning on just passing through Skyrim to see how it was. Cold doesn’t sit well with me, I’ve found. But I guess fate had other ideas, considering I’ve gotten myself wound tightly in the affairs of an organization of assassins. It’s good company.” 

Cicero laughed and nodded in agreement. 

“Good company indeed! You’re the Listener, anyways, that’s a huge honor for someone so new and fresh to these lands. Odd, though I’d never question the decisions of our Unholy Matron. She works her ways and Cicero is there to serve and protect her. Simple enough, hm?” Finn squinted at the road momentarily, then turned to him. 

“That sounds simple, but there’s more, is there not? What’s the extent of your duties? Are you supposed to protect me as well?” 

“Well- Not… Not necessarily, no, Ideally you’d entrust a Silencer for that, though their duties- ...ah, wait. How much do you know of the Black Hand, sweet Finn?” 

Finn hesitated, and shook her head. 

“Not much, sorry.” She admitted. 

“No matter! Spare your apologies, I can teach you everything. Cicero understands you’re a foreigner, and I’d hardly expect you to remember what little interaction you had with the brotherhood as a child.” He started, but just then they had reached the small village. 

 

He fell silent suddenly as they passed through Rorikstead. Finn waved to a guard as they passed to help dismiss suspicion. Several children darted across the street, chasing one another in a game of tag. Finn watched them in silence, not quite expressionless, but still blank, in a soft, solemn manner. She turned her attention back to the road, subtly nudging her mare, who picked up her walking speed and hurried out of Rorikstead. Cicero followed suit to keep up with her. 

 

It wasn’t until they’d passed through and reached the crossroads that Cicero spoke again. 

“As I was saying-” And was promptly cut off once more by an arrow narrowly missing his horse. 

“OH FOR SITHIS’ SAKE LET ME FINISH!” He cried, flinging himself off his mare and drawing his dagger in one swift motion. Cinnamon reared upwards and fled, not too far, but enough to be out of the way. 

Finn, however, had other plans. Drawing her bow, she stayed firm on Snowy’s back, notching an arrow and seeking a target. Three bandits converged on the crossroads from their hiding places in a flurry of motion. Cicero cried out in outrage and charged the closest one, barreling her backwards in an attempt to break from the crowd. This gave Finn the open opportunity to release an arrow, burrowing itself straight into the shaved head of a man brandishing a sword. He toppled over, dropping his weapon, presumably dead, or on his way to it. She quickly notched another arrow, preparing to shoot once more, but was taken by surprise with Cicero’s fighting style- she’d never seen anything like it, as he threw his cloak in the face of his adversary, and then lifted it in one smooth motion, too fast for the bandit to register, as suddenly an ebony blade had slid it’s mark right across the unfortunate bandit’s throat. He rounded on the last one standing, who at this point had begun to doubt his chances of survival and pleaded for mercy, to no avail- but it wasn’t Cicero who finished him off- it was Finn, who struck him in the back of the neck with an arrow, the shaft sliding straight through and protruding from the throat. Cicero scooted backwards as his armor was splattered with a bright crimson burst. The bandit collapsed and convulsed several times before falling still, blood pooling out on the crossroad stones. 

 

Finn gave little notice to Cicero, spinning her horse in a half circle and making a wide sweep of the crossroads to ensure that there were no more lying in wait. Once she was satisfied with her search, she returned to Cicero, who was now crouched over the bodies, digging through their pockets.

 

“...What are you doing?” She questioned, drawing closer on horseback. 

“Searching… the bodies? You can find some very useful things on the dead, you know.” He replied plainly. 

Finn felt sheepish. She’d never considered something of the sorts before, but it made sense. Cicero didn’t spare much time, pulling coin purses loose from the two dead bodies and digging through them with an idle, cheerful hum. Finn slid off of her horse, and followed suit, searching the body of the first bandit she had killed. The body reeked, not of rot, for it was too early, but the stench of negligence to bathing. Ironic, considering the river and waterfall that ran adjacent to the road. 

 

“Ah! A ruby! Oh, and a ring… wonder who this belonged to. It’s bloody! Bandit must have severed a finger for it.” Cicero idly chattered, investigating his spoils. Satisfied, he stood, and called to his mare, who cautiously inched close enough for him to cram the newfound riches into the saddlebag. He turned to Finn with an expectant expression. She had… less luck, finding little on her bandit. 

“Anything good?” He called. 

“...Some arrows, which is good to me, but not much uh- Well, 10 septims.” She stashed the septims and added the newfound arrows to her quiver. Cicero noted her subtle disappointment with a soft smile. She was really, truly, reminding him of himself when he was young, so eager. He sheathed his blade and pulled himself upright onto his mare’s saddle once more.

“Your bowmanship is impressive, Listener! How long did it take you to perfect it?” He rode closer, watching her mount her horse again. 

“Uh, 20, 30 years? I started when I was young, hunting was a necessary thing to learn. I guess after that I just focused on making my aim and focus as sharp as possible for quick kills.” She shrugged, looking back at him as they continued down the hill. 

“You’ve certainly perfected the art! Cicero is envious of your skill.” He complimented cheerfully. 

“Oh, thank you. I’m not as confident in my dagger skill, unfortunately, even though I’m starting to prefer it over my bow. I know where to cut and how to skin things, but nothing like… like what you were doing! That was incredible, your movements were so fluid and I just- just, how?” She breathed, the wonder of his skill finally catching up to her. 

“Cloak and Dagger, my dear Listener! Cicero was well renowned for it in within the sanctuaries in Cyrodiil. Cicero enjoys the chaos of it, the confusion in my victim’s eyes when they realize they have no clue where my beautiful black blade will strike-  _ Magnificent…” _ The plainclothed jester giggled excitedly at the very thought, Finn assumed he was recalling the bandit he had just killed. 

 

“Huh, interesting… I’ve never seen a fighting style like that, but it’s incredible. You’re so… skilled...” She trailed off, glancing at the impending river, alert to movement. Cicero, for once, was too wrapped up in the complement to realize something was up. 

“Oh, why thank you! You’re so kindly, Finn, too kind to humble Cicero. Hum…” He paused, comically placing his curled index finger to his chin, in a gesture of thinking. 

“I could always teach you how to use your daggers! No matter how well the dagger is, the skill of the kill is always in the hands of the assassin. Oh, that rhymed! Haha!” He idly glanced at her to see if she was listening, but went quiet at the sight of her staring intently at the river oncoming. His face fell slightly in disappointment. 

 

“Finn…?” He called, hopeful for a response. She held a finger up to silence him, and he realized something was up. Suddenly, her horse was stepping backwards to walk alongside him. 

“There’s more bandits up ahead. Looks like a camp, and they’ve built a trap bridge directly over the road, right after the only bridge across the river. We’ve got two options-” She paused, looking at him to read his expression. He showed only interest, listening intently. Something in her gut twisted slightly. 

“They haven’t seen us yet, I think the crossroads bandits served to alert and intercept anyone coming their way. I don’t want to charge into a bandit camp, so we’re going to have to… er… run.” She tested the waters, pausing to see his reaction. Cicero’s expression hadn’t changed. 

“Well, of course, that’s the logical answer. As much as the idea of a mass slaughter sounds fun to me- of course it would be dangerous, and we’ve got a contract to finish first- alive and in one piece, of course. Cicero really doesn’t fancy the idea of carrying all 5 sections of his dead Listener back home. Not good for the head.” He gestured at his temple.

“Assuming I’d be the one in pieces.” She scoffed, elbowing him playfully. Cicero broke into a grin. 

“What do you suggest we do, then? Cicero has… an idea, but I’d like to hear yours.” He continued. 

“Well, option one, we cross the river on horseback and just go around them-” Cicero opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it, letting her finish. 

“Option two, we charge straight through the pathway before they even know we’re there and keep running until we’ve hit Dragon Bridge. They’d be idiots to chase us that far.” She finished, flicking her gaze to the camp momentarily. 

 

“The river would be too dangerous, if our horses were too slow crossing, or if it was deep, we’d be sitting ducks. Cicero isn’t a duck. Sitting, on his horse, but not a duck.” He hummed. 

“Yeah, good point. Okay, well,  then we charge like madmen- well, I charge like madmen, you’re already mad-” She rambled. Cicero snorted and had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from barking out laughter. Finn’s face flushed hot with embarrassment, but tried to laugh it off. 

“A-anyways, yeah, We uh. Hahah-” She stumbled over her words, and then kicked her horse, not enough to hurt the mare, but definitely enough to get the point across, because Snowy charged forward with a burst of speed that took Finn by surprise. 

Cicero yelped as she suddenly bolted, and urged his mare to follow and attempt to match the pace.

 

The bandits didn’t even realize what had just passed until they were well past and down the road, following the winding path and racing the river. Finn remained ahead, not by too much but still a good distance. They kept this speed until they had reached Dragon Bridge, the aptly named town and stone bridge that was decorated with the stone skull of a dragon. Finn crossed over, her horse slowing to a bouncy trot. Cicero mimicked the motions, staring at the waterfall and the river that ran far below. 

 

He moved to trot alongside her again once they’d crossed the bridge. 

“You didn’t offend Cicero, you know. It was funny, Cicero is well aware that he’s… uh. Well, mad.” 

“It was so rude though! I didn’t mean to, it just kinda- I, have a bad uh… habit of- saying whatever I’m thinking when… when I’m... ” She was tongue tied and flustered. Cicero paused, now getting to see how red her cheeks and the tips of her ears were. Momentarily, his heart felt like it was in his throat. 

“You- You’re uh... “ He stammered, trying to find his words. 

“I’m…?” She countered, curious. 

“Emotions- Uh, Cicero is- You’re acting differently now. More open, to- to Cicero. Not cold, not… stone. Not silent. Not still. You smiled! And got embarrassed. And showed that, openly. No apathy. Is… is that-” 

“-No, it’s not an act. I don’t know why I do that. I get times where I just. Can’t really feel much. I mean, I kind of do, but it just…. Nothing matters. I just float along and do what I need to keep moving. Nothing really matters in the long run, I guess? I… don’t know. But I just- This is gonna sound really stupid, okay? But, I feel like I won’t get hurt for showing more feelings around you, and I feel like, I don’t really know, I feel safer to let my guard down, and in that event I guess the apathy has dispersed. For now, at least.” She paused, but started up before Cicero could speak.

 

“You’re like a Capybara. You know those animals? They like, radiate kindness and welcoming. Like, ‘hey, you can chill around me, we’re friends’. Animals always just chill around them. That’s kinda the same for you. I don’t really get how others can be so suspicious of you- I mean, our family, of course, we’re assassins so I guess there’s some suspicion, but we’re still a family and everyone’s so friendly and loving- Maybe it’s just how I was brought up. I don’t know. I’m rambling.” She became aware of the fact that she’d been talking in excess, and went quiet. 

 

They were now exiting the town of Dragon Bridge. Cicero didn’t know why, but his face burned from the compliment. 

 

“Cicero has no clue what a ‘Capybara’ is- but I appreciate the sentiment. It’s… kind, of you. Very, very kind…” He mumbled, turning his face away to watch the passing mountains as they ascended the sloping path to Solitude. 

“Some of our siblings do like Cicero, though. Babette likes me, I think Festus knows of my killing style, maybe? Cicero can’t tell if it’s respect or admiration, he likes me though. OH! And Moon-Eye, that khajiit! He’s so kind, a little worried… about everything… but kind! Him and his lizard boyfriend. Vee- Veezara.” He added hastily. 

“Oh, so I’m not the only one who noticed that they’ve got a thing going on.” Finn hummed, smiling softly. 

“I think everyone knows by now, they’re getting less secretive and cautious with it. Cicero hopes they realize soon that nobody in our family judges.” He smiled in return. 

 

Finn’s heart jolted for a minute and she felt winded. Did he know? Or suspect something? No, she was too careful. There was no evidence. And she was right, Cicero wasn’t aware, his wording was innocent. Still… Laughable. Finn was sure that that sentiment didn’t extend to what she was hiding, though she wished to believe that she was safe in their company- it would take time to decide if her secret was safe with anyone. There were some things she wasn’t willing to ever reveal so soon, not after… the incident in Cyrodiil. She was more careful for now. 

 

Besides that, she was enjoying his company, she realized. The contracts would have been lonely without his conversation. She sighed softly and closed her eyes momentarily, letting the motion of the horse beneath her soothe her nerves. 

 

“When we reach Solitude, can we get something to eat? Cicero is… hungry. And forgot to pack something to chew on.” He mumbled. 

“Yeah, of course.” She replied idly, watching the scenery. 

 

They didn’t have very far now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
  


Astrid was… not happy. 

“You… let them go… together?” She spoke slowly, tense with barely bridled frustration. 

“Yes, and don’t worry, there won’t be a problem. Finn can handle her own, I’m sure she’ll be able to keep Cicero in check. I gave her the thane contract, but I didn’t have anyone to pair with her, so I was going to send her alone- it was lucky that Cicero was available. I would have felt guilty sending her alone.” Nazir assured the woman. 

“The thane contract? I… guess you’re right, then. Right, well, thank you for informing me, and let FInn know I’m grateful for her attempt to pass the information on.” She lied, sparing Nazir from a long winded speech on why this probably wasn’t a good idea. She returned to her room and sat in silence. 

That damned fool was slowly starting to loosen her grip on control of the sanctuary, and for what, placing a rookie in a position of power? They didn’t need the old rules. They were surviving without them. Everything was becoming undone, all thanks to Cicero… and Finn, as well. Actually. Finn was the reason all of this was happening, right? Cicero was slowly spreading and restoring faith in the old ways, and in that wake his crusade now had a cause, a reason- Finn. With her out of the question… that would crumble. 

 

Astrid was torn, this was a very big gamble, a huge chance… Maybe she even felt guilty. But the reasoning and paranoia outweighed the consequences. In her mind, this was what was best. This is how they would survive. 

She exited her room and found Nazir again. 

 

“I’m going out for a while, I may not be back for a day or two. Just hold the place down while I’m gone. I can trust you with that, right?” She spoke calmly. 

“Of course, but- Where are you going?” Nazir raised an eyebrow, looking up from the book he was reading. 

“Nothing big, just some errands and picking up some new contracts. Need to take care of something.” She answered vaguely. Nazir nodded, and returned to his book. 

 

It was time to pay someone a visit. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. When in Solitude

With their horses safely stowed at Katla’s Farm, The two assassins were free to travel uphill to the city gates. Finn had cloaked her armor with her faded red shawl to avoid suspicion, adopting a more neutral expression. They passed the Solitude gate guards, and entered the city.

  
  


Solitude was big, and noisy. People were walking in all directions. Finn was immediately taken aback by the crowd and activity. There were marketpeople calling out to advertise their wares, older men trying to solicit money from passerbys, a lone argonian skulking in the shadows. Two hooded men passed before her, carrying the remains of a decapitated man from off of a stage. Finn faltered, taking a step back. The activity and noise was almost overwhelming. Cicero glanced at her, picking up on her distress, and scoffed. 

 

“Solitude, not a very fitting name for such a busy city. Openly macabre, too. The far opposite of solitary.” He grumbled, crossing his arms and scooting closer to her. Finn nodded in agreement and retreated into her shawl. 

“Where are we supposed to go? I didn’t really get much information on the Thane, well, location wise.” She mumbled from under the fabric. 

“Cicero wouldn’t know, he’s never been here before… But perhaps he can… ask around…” He trailed off, suddenly walking into the crowd, leaving Finn bewildered and frozen on the spot. Someone nudged her out of the way, forcing her to move to a shaded area beneath a merchant’s building. ‘Radiant Raiment’, it read. She wondered what clothing was sold inside, but stayed in her spot, waiting, and hoping that Cicero would return soon. 

 

And he did, soon enough, smiling softly and stopping in front of her with his hands clasped. 

“Apologies, dear Listener, for running off like that! Cicero saw someone he thought would talk and had to move fast not to lose them. I now know the way- to the Blue Palace! That’s where our lovely target is.” 

 

Finn bobbed her head slightly in acknowledgement. Cicero, acting in a form of instinct, offered her his hand- He was now worried she might get lost in the busy crowd- so many people! And she had seemed stressed at the high amount of activity- didn’t do well in crowds, he assumed. Shame. Finn stared at his hand in unregistering silence, and Cicero felt his face start to flush with embarrassment.

 

At the last minute, before he attempted to shamefully pull his hand away, she slipped her fingers over his, resting her palm lightly against his- Cicero nearly shivered, had that not been something that would have made the situation extremely awkward- but she was so gentle, so delicate in touching him, maybe hesitant? She had nothing to fear though, oh no, Cicero could never harm a hair on her head even if she ordered him to. To do so was… forbidden. In his mind, even harming a sibling was a cardinal sin, though he supposed such thoughts were hypocritical of him… recalling of how he talked one of his fellow siblings into murdering that blasphemer within the old sanctuary…  No, that was justified, there was corruption. Sweet, soft Finn was not corrupted, only misguided or confused. Though maybe Astrid… but did Cicero really wish to harm and kill another member of his dwindling family? He faced extinction in the full front if such things continued… another death would only serve to in-fighting, and Cicero would surely be turned upon and ripped apart by the Wrath of Sithis and his family- and the idea of leaving his dear mother’s corpse behind- furthermore, his newfound Listener, vulnerable to corruption- Finn was no baby, no soft, weak willed woman, but she was new, and, ironically, listened too much to what others wanted her to do- most likely for approval and pleasing her family, but it could lead to her being taken advantage of, before she even realized it was happening. She was strong, and capable, but… he worried too much, to be honest, he was afraid that she’d be easily swayed down a bad path- was it her, he was worried about, or having a corrupt Listener, of all things? Surely Mother wouldn’t allow such a thing, but he, himself, wasn’t sure where his feelings lay. He’d have to think on this later, he was thinking too much right now- he realized in embarrassment when he noticed Finn staring down at him with a confused and expectant expression. 

 

“Cicero, you okay?” She asked again, now that his gaze was focused on her. 

“Y… Yes, Listener! Just thinking, planning… For the contract, of course!” He replied quickly, cheerfully. 

“Oh, thank Sithis, because I have no fuckin clue how I’m gonna go about this. At all.” She visibly relaxed with a nervous sigh. A weird, toothy smile snaked across his face, punctuated by a giggly exhale. 

 

Her emotions were fluctuating, he could tell, because she would rapidly switch between showing nothing to being colorful with her nerves. He wondered if it was the city getting to her, or something else that was getting under her skin-er, fur… fur and skin. She had both. And fur-colored skin. Thicker, woolier fur that looked so soft, and stuffed-animal soft peachfuzz. He wasn’t sure how the thicker fur felt, but he knew the peachfuzz, from the one time he got to touch it while speaking to her on that late night. Anyways. They had a contract to focus on moreso. Cicero squeezed her hand slightly in signification that he was moving, and stepped out into the crowd, leaving her to follow closely after him. 

 

Weaving through the crowd proved easy once Cicero found a method and a stream of movement. Finn, not so much, as she’d sometimes bump into people or graze someone with her horns, to have them snap at her to watch where she walked or stay out of the way. It aggravated Cicero, these people had no clue who they spoke to, with such contempt and aggression. He kept a firm grip on her hand, trying to find a quieter, less populated way to give her a break from the traffic. He was stopped in his tracks when he was jerked sharply by the hand that lead his Listener. 

 

“Watch where you’re going, wench, you’re going to put someone’s eye out with those hideous horns of yours- Eugh! Were you raised in a barn?” A rather nasally, uppity voice criticized from behind him. 

“Sorry sir, I meant no harm- I-” That was Finn’s voice, confirming his fears.

“Races like you shouldn’t be allowed to walk in civilized cities such as Solitude, you nasty little  _ Betmer _ .” The voice hissed. 

 

Cicero whirled on his heels, releasing Finn’s hand to confront the speaker- a High Elf, with narrowed eyes and the most burning, furious gaze. He seemed unaware of Cicero, instead focusing on berating Finn. 

 

“A goat, honestly, the guards will just let any livestock wander through here nowadays.” He sneered, but curious enough, Finn carried no expression, blank as a stone slab, eyebrows raised. Cicero would not let this happen. 

“Is there, perhaps a problem-  _ sir?” _ He seethed, his amber eyes burning right into that stupid elf’s skin. The offender whirled to look him up and down, scrutinizingly. 

“Yes- there is, in fact. Is- is she yours, Imperial?” He squinted. 

_ “Mine?” _ Cicero was incredulous. 

“Yes, can you hear me? Is this your pet?” He snapped, jerking a finger at Finn, who shot Cicero a warning expression- for what purpose, Cicero had no clue, why would she tolerate such humiliation-!! 

 

“The nerve! The- the-” Cicero stammered furiously.

“Pet? PET?! Do you know who you’re speaking to?! I’d flay you here, cur! You speak to demean one with such power- She could have you killed on the spot, you yellow-skinned pig!” He shrieked, taking the high elf by surprise- which melted to fury. 

“Why- And to think you had some dignity- Imperials truly are embarrassing-” He snapped, but Cicero was faster.

“Embarrassing, says the one who walks with an ego so big it could crush his empty, big head! Cicero has never seen a forehead as big as yours- but there’s nothing in there, it seems!” He snarled, jamming a finger into the elf’s chest. The Altmer did not take well to this, raising his hands in offense and snarling. 

“WHY OF ALL OF THE-” 

“Enough! For fucks sake, enough!” Finn pushed between them, grabbing Cicero by the wrist, as he’d attempted to draw his dagger. Nobody would speak to him or his Listener in such a way-! 

“We’re not here for this, understand?” She hissed, staring down to meet Cicero’s eyes. He felt small under her intense focus. His brows furrowed but he couldn’t find words to use. 

 

“Forgive him- He’s easily angered, you understand, he’s-” 

“Not right in the head, I can tell, goatbeast. I should have both of you thrown in jail for such an offense, but I’ve wasted enough time already. Do not let me catch you in my sight again.” The Altmer scoffed, but some look in his eyes said that he recognized something- or saw Cicero’s intents, and understood the weight of the situation. Finn’s blood ran cold- colder than it had been before. Her hands squeezed tightly- and Cicero let out a yelp of protest. 

“Yes, yes, I understand- We’re leaving.” Finn snapped briskly, tugging Cicero away. 

 

There were too many eyes focusing on them, narrowed, confused, shocked, sympathetic- Finn hated it. The world was spinning around her and she felt dizzy. She let go of Cicero’s wrist and darted off into the crowd, no longer able to focus on the waking world or coherent thought- forgetting Cicero even existed for the spare minute as she instinctively looked for somewhere quiet and dark. Everything was blurry and vibrant and her head ached with an intense fury like thousands of brightly colored, swarming insects flooding out her hearing and head. She shuddered and crammed herself into an alleyway, the distant sound of feral cats fighting echoing over stone. She pressed her back against the wall, gazing up at the eaves of the buildings and the sky further above. 

 

Cicero was left to dart after her, trying to trail her in the crowd- she was nearly elusive, but years of skill as an Assassin rewarded him with the ability to never lose whoever he was following- he stayed behind her, keeping her within eyesight until she ducked into an alley. 

 

What was that about, how she just dismissed it all, and wrote Cicero’s actions off to that stranger that he was just a madman- madman he was! But no, he knew what he was doing, and nobody was allowed to talk to his Listener like such! But Finn just… let it go. And fled with her tail practically tucked, probably would have, had it been long enough for that gesture. Cicero spat horrible things under his breath, all aimed at the golden skinned elf that did such injustice to both of them. Ugly supremacists, that’s all they ever seemed to be.

 

Cicero was infuriated, but let it ease off when he caught up with Finn for the moment- he was hurt, hurt at how she’d brushed him off, but he still worried deeply for her. 

 

“Are you-” 

“Yes, I am fine.” 

 

There was an awkward silence. Cicero closed his eyes and sighed forcefully. 

 

“Let’s just keep going. We’re here to finish a contract, not get into fights with random strangers.” She mumbled, adjusting her hooves on the stone. Cicero opened his eyes- and his mouth to protest, but closed it and nodded. He would let this go for now- in fear that he may strike a nerve if he pushed so soon. 

 

Finn turned to look at him, once more with that unreadable, blank expression. She pushed off of the wall and followed him out of the alleyway, and down the street towards the palace, but stopped short and frowned. 

 

“Hey, I have an idea, but it’s gonna be weird. Bear with me here.” She called to him, stopping his movements. 

“Nazir said that from the information gathered, this guy has a creepy Bosmer fetish. I’m. Obviously not Bosmer but I come from the province of Valenwood as they do- and may have enough going for me already- being uh, not common, and all, so what if I… er…” 

“You’re going to seduce this guy into following you to somewhere secluded.” 

“Yeah, actually exactly what I was planning, and you can follow after and take care of the rest.” Finn seemed fine with this, but Cicero wasn’t so sure. 

“What if he doesn’t take the bait? And- really? Just… doing something of that sorts… with… uh... “ Cicero tried to place his words carefully- he wasn’t sure why he was so opposed to the idea in the first place, it was her choice, and he certainly had no say in what she wanted to do. Still, it was as if he wanted a reason to tell her no. 

“It’s our best bet, Cicero. C’mon, don’t get all weird about it.” She crossed her arms, jutting out her lower lip. 

“But you’re the Listener! All powerful, dignified…” 

“I can be all powerful, dignified, and look killer while doing it.” She retorted teasingly, but Cicero felt that unpleasant warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. 

 

“Cicero has no position to disagree with you anyways, you do what you wish…” He hummed, trying to cover up his displeasure at the idea- and the weird blush. 

 

“Perfect! Ok, so I’m going to need a dress, and uhh- hm. I have earrings that’ll work on hand, and jewelry, I think, unless I’ve sold that shit off the last time I was drunk. I don’t have-” 

“Cicero… has makeup.” He mumbled softly. Finn’s ears perked. 

“What? The Fool of Hearts has to look presentable as a fool if he wishes to take on the persona of his character.” He whined defensively. 

“I’m not judging! I noticed, anyways, and it’s not like you do a bad job, or look bad in it, I mean. It’s fitting.” She shrugged awkwardly. Cicero felt some weird buzzing sensation in his chest. 

“Ok, all I need is a dress now… Ugh, that’s gonna cost moneyyyyyyy…” She trailed off, digging for her purse, and producing it. 

“Oh, chin up, Finny, it probably won’t be that bad.” Cicero offered, smiling softly, in hopes of lightening the mood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  


“100 Septims, sweetheart.” 

“100?!” Finn and Cicero gasped simultaneously. 

“Yes, 100, I’ve got a business to run. Pay up or go somewhere else.” The shopkeeper drawled tiredly. Finn muttered something and tediously fished out the 100 Septims, passing them to the woman. She’d have to really figure out how much she’d blown over the past few days.

 

The shopkeeper passed the dress over the counter, and into Finn’s arms, and then went back to reading her book. Finn wrinkled her nose. Cicero fidgeted, staring at the dress in her arms. It looked like it was of fine quality, at least… But 100 septims? Greedy bastards. It’d better have an enchantment, for that price. Cicero followed her out of the Radiant Raiment, and onto the streets. 

 

“Well, now I need to find a place to change. You wanna buy a room?” She gestured at the tavern adjacent to the shop they’d just exited. Cicero narrowed his eyes. 

“...Fine, I suppose we should. Cicero is starving, anyways.” 

  
  


When the rooms were paid for- Finn paid 20 for her room, to guarantee it for 2 days maximum, Cicero paying the same for his own after agreeing that they might stay overnight if the circumstances allowed them to- Cicero waited downstairs in the dining area, greedily wolfing down a sweetroll with a splash of wine while waiting for Finn. 

 

He was impatient, or maybe Finn was taking too long. It had to be her. The Imperial stood abruptly and ascended the stairs to find her, only to nearly run into her when she came around the corner, preoccupied with fixing an earring into her earlobe. 

 

“Hey, I don’t really know how to use your makeup and didn’t really want to mess it up, does this look okay though?” She backed up and let her arms rest, now that the hoop was fastened, looking down at the shorter man.

 

A sight to behold, she was, hardly looking like much of an assassin at the moment. The earrings were red hoops, and the brightest gold bells hung from the rings of metal in a row. The necklace matched in color- but not quality, it was obvious the gold chain was worn and older, with a round red medallion of some sort as the centerpiece. Of course, the dress was fashionable, some vibrant shade of maroon, following the current trend in high society style, with the low cut neck that showed off the shoulders and collarbone- it hugged her form well too, a little too well, but Cicero supposed that was the point- and he wouldn’t go into how it was cut to end a little bit above the pastern of her leg- if such anatomy applied to a Satyr as it would a goat. Did that count as revealing the ankle? Maybe, maybe so. He swallowed roughly. Damn it all, 8 years of isolation and he can’t handle the bare sight of her in a dress without feeling weird. It was not as if he carried any feelings for her, he assured himself, it was just passing lust after being touch starved for so long. It will pass, he assured himself, it will pass. Cicero was too faithful to his mother to ever pursue something of the sorts, anyways. Too faithful, yes, he told himself. 

 

“It… Looks like it’ll work, yes.” Was all he could manage. 

“Well, good, then. Let’s go.” 

 

Finn felt, disappointed, in a sense, though she couldn’t understand why. Not like she’d express that, to anyone. She fastened her purse to her belt and lead the way down the stairs and out of the tavern. The late afternoon sun warmed her shoulders, and as Cicero followed, his eyes trailed over the back of her neck, as far as the collar would allow to reveal. More burn marks, he noticed, narrowing his eyes. Faint enough, though, not enough to be offputting- not to him, at least, but then again, his opinions were biased by his respect for her as Listener. The fur didn’t grow back, in those patches, he realized. Not now, at least, he wasn’t sure how old the scars were. 

 

“Cicero, keep up, I don’t want to lose you.” She called, glancing at him from over her shoulder. Cicero felt his heart drop for a split second, before darting to catch up and fall alongside her. 

Still, the walk was silent and awkward, to Cicero, at least, especially after he took up to lead the rest of the way.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Nearing the palace, they were abruptly stopped by a man in ragged robes, who was rambling frantically and clutching something in his hands. Upon seeing Finn, he gasped, and shuffled quickly to throw himself in front of her. Cicero raised a brow. 

 

“The flame of my master burns low, ma’am. Without him, we are all lost and forever gray... Please, help, please help!” He cried, advancing on her until he was inches from her face- or well, her neck, she was taller than him, as she were with most men.

“Do, do you need something? Money?” Finn backed up, puzzled. 

“No, no no no! Money, no, coin… no value to me! None, none none none!” 

“What do you need, then?”

 

This seemed to launch the man into his sob story.

 

“My master has abandoned me! Abandoned his people. And nothing I say can change his mind. Now he refuses to even see me. He says I interrupt his vacation! It's been so many years... Won't you please help? Please, please!” He shook his clasped hands frantically, still holding, but obscuring the item he carried. 

 

Finn and Cicero exchanged a glance. It was obvious this man wouldn’t leave them alone now that Finn had paid him attention, and they had a contract they needed to finish. Cicero wasn’t one to judge a madman, for he’d be a hypocrite, though he certainly wasn’t this bad along, or so he hoped. He prayed to Sithis that Finn didn’t see him this way. That would be… embarrassing, certainly a blow to his confidence. 

 

“Ok, so where can I find your master, then?” Finn pressed, despite Cicero’s nudge to keep her moving. 

“Visiting! Visiting a friend in the Blue Palace, but not a Jarl, no… nothing as mundane and below him as a Jarl… The forbidden wing! Forbidden indeed! Said he wished to speak with a friend… they haven’t had tea in so, so long, you see…” 

“Ah. Okay.” Finn deadpanned. 

“But here! Take this, without it you will never be able to find him in the wings. No, no… yes… hip bone! Take the hip bone. You need it. You need the hip bone, yes you do.” He shoved it into her hands, but Cicero quickly snatched it. 

“Cicero will take this and hold onto it for now.” He grumbled, inspecting the bone. 

“Do as you must, as you must! But please, bring him back to us, to me, I miss him so much…” The crazed man sighed sadly, and then turned, and walked down the street as if the conversation had never occurred. Finn stared after him, then looked at Cicero. 

 

“What was…” 

“With utmost confidence, Finn, Cicero has no  _ fucking _ idea.” He muttered, tucking the hip bone up under his cloak and into some hidden pocket. 

 

They continued on to the palace.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
  
  
  


To their luck, the Blue Palace wasn’t guarded heavily and permitted entrance without any questioning- weird, considering their High King had been recently murdered in this very palace, or so Cicero had heard. He was so busy musing over the odd circumstances that he failed to notice Finn slipping to the side, out of eyesight until he nearly lost her. He followed briskly to investigate. 

“Finn, now’s not the time to get cold feet, you kn- oh.” 

 

Finn waved a hand at him, distractedly taking a draw from a cigar she had in her hand. This was new, Cicero had never taken her for a smoker, though she acted like this was nowhere near her first time. 

 

“I’m just trying to calm myself so I can pull this off, okay? It’s easier to flirt like a prostitute when I’ve go tobacco in my system.” She grumbled, exhaling smoke like a dragon. 

 

“That’s… not good for you, you know that, yes?” Cicero winced, wringing his hands. Finn rolled her eyes. 

“To you men, maybe. Satyr have been smoking and drinking substances for as long as we’ve existed. Used to be mandatory for ritual, or so the elders taught us… As far as I remember. Trauma fucks up your memory n’ all. We’ve built up a tolerance, though I guess this stuff could hurt me if I just started smoking excessively every day at all hours. I think by then though it’d be an addiction. Tolerant, but not invulnerable.” She huffed, taking another drag from the cigar. 

 

“Cicero thinks that’s bullshit but doesn’t know enough about Satyr to disprove your claims.” He mumbled weakly. Finn nodded with approval and returned her attention to smoking. 

 

Not that this skewed his view of her, but it was definitely… surprising. Finn seemed calm enough about it, however. She made the mere idea of it tempting to him, in fact, like some sort of weird peer pressure in the desire to impress her? Show her he was as flexible and relaxed as she was? Oh, nice, Cicero, now you sound like a teenage boy, uncharacteristically, as well. But he would feel dirty for doing something like smoking. Maybe later, if he worked up the courage to ask to try. Cicero was a dirty bird, in ways, but he was admittedly too much of a coward of his Unholy Matron’s possible disapproval to ever pick up smoking as a habit, or drugs for that matter. Never touched a lick of Skooma, in terror that it may prohibit his chances of being selected as Listener. Not that it mattered now, he supposed. Sure, he drank his fill of alcohol, maybe got drunk a few times and knocked around in a comical stupor while he was alone, but nothing too serious. Never too serious. 

 

Finn was putting out the remains of her cigar now and brushing ash off of her dress. Cicero focused on her again, receding from his thoughts with an expectant gaze. 

 

“Ready now?” 

“Yes, ready now.” She hummed. 

 

The palace was a contrast from the city, probably giving the hold it’s namesake. It was elegant, quiet, with high arched ceilings and columns and polished floors that you could see the blurry, wavy reflection of yourself in. Beautiful, but lonely. There was hardly a soul around, unless you counted the faceless, masked guards as living beings. Finn swept over it smoothly, her hooves clicking against the floor as she took the lead and let Cicero fall back to slink after her. She approached a guard and spoke in hushed tone. 

 

“I’m looking to speak with Erikur, sir, do you know where he would be?” She mustered up as much politeness as she could manage. 

“Yes, so is everyone else who visits here.” The guard grumbled. 

Finn’s unamused expression made him feel awkward. 

“Left wing, upper level, just got out of a meeting. Probably at a desk. Don’t cause any trouble or I’ll be the one throwing you out.” He followed up, clearing his throat to punctuate his hasty add-on. 

Finn merely nodded to him and then ascended the stairs, sparing no glance to Cicero.

  
  


Erikur was, as assured, at his desk. Finn patted her purse to ensure the letter Nazir had given her was, in fact, still there, and entered quietly. Her hooves clicked against the floor, alerting him to her presence, but not causing a disturbance. 

“If you’re here about the issue near Dragon Bridge, I assure you, I have it… under… con...trol…” His haughty tone died in his throat upon looking up at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. 

“I have a favor to ask of you, I’m… In need of your services and position as Thane, if you’d be inclined to… help a girl out.” This was cheesy, and it made her feel stupid. She swallowed any hesitance she had, however, pressing on for the sake of her contract. Cicero would be waiting to see her escort Erikur somewhere quieter. 

 

“Well, of course, sweet thing, what’s the problem? I assure you no feat is too large for me.” He seemed to puff his chest out, but it only made him look even stupider. 

“This is quite a… personal, private issue, you see….” She leaned over his desk, resting her elbows on it. Her earrings jingled softly. 

“Maybe we can go somewhere a little quieter? I’m sure you’d also prefer to discuss a matter of payment for the favor.” She purred, tracing her nails over the wood. 

 

Hook, line, sinker. Erikur fell, like a blundering idiot, straight into her trap. 

 

“Why of course, I think I know exactly what you mean. Come, down the hall and across to the Pelagius wing, there's a small unused balcony that overlooks the sea. We can  _ chat _ some more there, if you’d prefer a nice view.” He crooned. Finn wanted to cringe. 

 

Weird elf fetish, tacky taste in setting, this guy probably never touched a woman in his life. The only references he’d ever had were tasteless romance novels, most likely. Nonetheless, for the sake of the contract, she followed him out of the office and down the hall, casting a glance to Cicero, who had moved up to a waiting bench, posing as if he were in queue to speak to the Jarl. He didn’t even glance her way, but she knew he was paying attention. 

 

“They say the hall is haunted. Load of lies, I say. No ghost could ever scare me anyways, haha. But it’s got a secret passage out, in case we need to make a discreet escape.” He boasted. 

 

Finn watched in silence as he unlocked the door. And lead her inside, closing it behind him, but forgetting to lock it back. Forgetful, absent minded, too focused on depraved things to pay attention to details. Dundering, perverted fool. Finn scooted up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

“So, about that favor… You see, my mother is frail, and cannot move from her home because she’s fallen under… grave circumstances. Very wealthy woman, though, and I love her so, so dearly. Used to run her business with an iron fist… but now we’ve got others encroaching on us… diminishing our credibility. I do her work and errands for her, now, until she can recover… I heard that you’d be such a brave, kindly soul to offer help for us, though.” She drawled. 

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty, foreign head at all, sweet thing. I’ll help your nice mother out if you’d be willing to do me a favor or few…” He tried his best to sound sultry. 

“Oh, thank you!” She circled around, sliding to meet his eyes- looking down, as she was taller than him, as well. 

“Incredibly humble, and saintly of you, to do a poor girl such a favor… My mom will be so pleased- furthermore, so will  _ I. _ ” She praised, watching as Cicero silently slipped through the door behind him, but keeping her eyes trained on Erikur as to not give away the position. 

“Well, anything for such a beautiful… shapely woman…” He mumbled, awkwardly attempting to place his hands on her. Cicero’s blood boiled suddenly with a surge of fury. Nobody was allowed to touch his Listener like that, not even Cicero. Disgusting pig, he’d make this hurt.

“Whatever you need, anything…” He was talking again.

“Anything? Oh, Mother will appreciate this, see… She’s been asking for new souls, her husband loves the gifts…” 

 

Erikur hummed absentmindedly, staring her up and down, but confusion crossed his face as he processed the words. Cicero advanced.

“Oh yes, Sithis just loves new pets to serve him in the void, you see-” She giggled, pulling away from him suddenly. 

“Sithis? Oh, gods, no, you’re, you’re not-” He was cut off when a gloved hand clasped over his lips, and in a flash, a rope was looped around his neck and hoisted over a wall fixture, and up across a low-hanging chandelier. Cicero jerked the rope with sudden, swift aggression, sending Erikur’s body upwards to dangle and jerk above them. He tied the rope to the fixture to hold it fast.  

“Not what? A Dark Brotherhood member? Afraid so,  _ sweet thing.” _ She mocked, watching him struggle with the rope, but to no avail. Cicero slid up to press closely against her side, checking her worriedly without touching her. 

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, he didn’t do anything bad to me, just touched me a little.” She mumbled, but didn’t pull away from him. They both stood in silence, watching Erikur die above their heads. 

 

“Do you have the…?” 

“Yes, I got the note, here. I’ll leave it at his feet.” Finn pulled it from her purse and unfolded it, dropping it on the ground beneath the body. 

 

“Erikur mentioned there was a secret way out of this wing down the hall, we can go that way to avoid suspicion and detection.” Finn hummed, pointing down the dim, dusty hall that was lit only by the low late-afternoon light that shafted through the stained glass windows.

“That guard didn’t even pay any attention to me, when I passed. Probably has forgotten we even passed through already. Lazy, lazy, very weird how people of Skyrim seem so… careless, after their High King was dethroned so violently. Stupid, if you ask me. In Cyrodiil, Cicero would have been jumping through many hoops just to get close to a nobleperson’s maid, had there been a murder such as there had been here.”

 

“The High King was dethroned?” Finn hummed with curiosity. 

“Oh, yes, that’s big news right now, I’m surprised you haven’t heard. The leader of that rebellion that’s tearing Skyrim asunder- pompous oaf, Ulfric, killed the king with a shout- his voice!” 

“Bullshit.” Finn countered, incredulously. How could you just shout someone to death? 

“No! Cicero does not jest this time, I swear it. He used that voice magic, uh… Th… Thu’um? I think that was it. Never paid much attention to… er.” Finn was staring at him with narrowed eyes, with an expression as if he’d just grown another shrieking head. 

“You’ve never heard of any of this, have you.” 

“Fuck no.” 

“Cicero does not understand you, you know?” 

“Yeah, nobody really does. We should keep going.” 

 

Cicero nodded in agreement and took the lead, scanning the hall as they progressed towards the end, searching for the exit.

  
  


Or at least, attempted to, before the room started to warp. Finn felt fatigued, and dizzy, and her vision began to blur and blacken out. Her hearing started to fade, as if she were in a tunnel and all sound was distant and far, far away. As if she was blacking out from a high fever, without the sensation of the sickness. 

 

“Cicero- something’s… something… is…” 

 

She couldn’t finish her sentence, for Cicero had already collapsed on the floor in front of her- in fact, it was the last thing she’d seen before she, too, collapsed. 

  
  



	19. Hiatus and some news

Hello everyone! First of all I'd like to thank all of the support this fic has been getting, it's really motivated me to keep working on it. When I first stuck this out where anyone could read it i was definitely nervous- I wasn't very serious with my writing, the whole fic was moreso just a fun exercise for me to fool around with and maybe get some laughs from some TES fan out there- so it was a big shocker when people actually genuinely enjoyed my work- it meant a MONUMENTAL amount to me! 

Which is why i'm saying this with a heavy heart that this fic is now officially on hiatus- there's a number of behind-the-curtain factors to this, but it's definitely put a damper on my writing, plus I might end up rewriting some of the chapters to give it a better emotional and storytelling balance.

Finn really is an oc that's near and dear to my heart, and I'd like to give her a proper backstory that has depth and is properly fleshed out and isn't just me dicking around with cliches for 5 chapters- I want to write something that amazes the reader, that immerses them with emotion! 

...  


...

Which is why, with a LOT of mixed apprehension and excitement- I'd like to announce that there's going to be a comic adaptation of this fic coming soon- I do not have an exact date yet, I'm still gathering resources and considering options, and also looking into guest artists, proofreaders, etc, but the comic will be a better opportunity to reach more readers and also give you, the appreciated reader, a better look into what I strive to describe with my writing

Thank you, so much, everyone who's been reading this, for the kudos, the comments, it's been one of the nicest things I've ever seen on some silly fic i wrote for fun, and I'll definitely be posting a link when the comic drops! 

I love you all so much!! Thank you!!


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